


Five Times Max and Shattershield Failed to Have Sex on Shattershield's Desk, and One Time They Finally Did

by afterandalasia



Series: "Salvaging the Balloon" [2]
Category: Oxventure (Web Series)
Genre: 5+1, Bathing/Washing, Biting, But first a lot of failing to have desk sex, Canon Nonbinary Character, City of Mistmire (Oxventure), Desk Sex, Developing Relationship, M/NB, No Dysphoria, Non-Human Genitalia, Order of the Dragon D'Or (Oxventure), Other, Overstimulation, Post-Episode: s03 Gnome Alone, Rough Sex, Smut, Stand and Carry (Sex Position), Strength Kink, Wall Sex, sex accidents
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-02-06
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:40:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28738917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterandalasia/pseuds/afterandalasia
Summary: After a while, Max starts to wonder if the desk is just plain cursed.
Relationships: Shattershield/Max Williams (Oxventure)
Series: "Salvaging the Balloon" [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2106963
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently I'm only falling deeper into this shipping hell, egged on by various folks around me. At least it's a fun trip!
> 
> With regards to the sexual content with canon nonbinary character Max... well, that's the majority of the fic, so. Basically, same notes as on the first fic in the series for genitalia, dysphoria and language, simply copied below. 
> 
> I went with AFAB Max because honestly, as someone who is also an AFAB enby it matches the pattern of pronouns (including slip-ups) that have been used for them in canon, and because it allows me to presume that Max is like 5'0 (150cm for those on the metric system) to really find it all the funnier when they are bossing taller people about. Zero dysphoria on Max's part, and no references to anyone else misgendering them, because DM Johnny is a wonderful person. In terms of language, there are a few uses of the word breast (singular) but mostly it's chest; the term clit is used, and there are non-specific references to vulva ("folds" or "parting them"), but no specific term is used for the vagina (generally just "inside them".)

“Are you feeling better for bathing, then?” said Shattershield, as Max re-entered the room. He sounded amused, though whether that was for the curls of Max’s hair already springing back to their uncontrollable state, or the fact that they were wearing the Egbert memorial shirt again, they could not possibly have said.

Their fresh clothes were still clinging to their body, the steam of the bathroom having made it impossible to get fully dry even if they had wanted to. But having bathed, and in clean clothes, truly did feel immediately and significantly better, and Max wished that they had thought to bathe immediately rather than just washing their face and hands before Shattershield showed them around the citadel.

Of course, it had been amazing to see the city. Amazing as well to see Shattershield walking in full armour with no problem, even for the hours he and Max had been about the city. The weather was mild, the sea insulating them from the worst cold of winter, but still chilly outside the thick, sturdy walls of the citadel. Inside, whether it was related to the fiery nature of the inhabitants or not, it was noticeably warmer.

“Yes,” they said. “Thank you.” Changing back into fresh clothes, they had not quite been sure how many layers to put back on, hesitating and biting their lip before omitting their short shift and hoping it was not being too… presumptuous.

Strange. They had spent days barely bothering with clothes and barely out of each other’s arms unless it was for practicing magic, for eating, or for some other specific task. Now, with half a day in Mistmire, there had been little more than a clasp of hands, or a few times that Shattershield had touched Max’s shoulder, between them.

They could feel the familiar heat, though, the familiar desire welling up through them again. It seemed to swell in their chest until it was difficult to breathe deeply, seemed to raise their hairs on the back of their neck as they padded over to lean against the desk where Shattershield sat.

It was an impressive piece, they had to say, the carving subtle but elegant and the workmanship sturdy. Again, a little taller than human standards, coming a couple of inches higher on their hip and with deeper leg room. The other furniture in the room was all similar – as was, Max had noted with something of a flush in their cheeks, the furniture in his bedroom through which they had needed to pass to get to the bathroom. Shattershield’s bed was both longer and wider than the one in the cabin had been, and Max had just about managed not to let the heated thought grow in themselves until Shattershield had shown them around the bathroom and granted them their privacy.

Privacy, gods. They had already been yearning to pull the armour from him. But now, it seemed, he had removed it himself, and the sight of his muscles moving in his shoulders as he sat up in the chair to regard them again made it hard to tear their eyes away.

“I’m not sure if I got things quite right. The water ran very hot,” said Max. Perhaps their flushed skin could be taken for that. It probably wasn’t helping anyway.

Shattershield cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. While dragonborn do not _need_ external heat like true reptiles, it should not be said that we do not enjoy it.”

His words seemed a little… uneven. Flustered, again? He had apparently had enough forethought to let the guards who manned the gates be aware that if the messenger from Mistmire arrived early, to let him know, and even though this was supposed to be one of his days off they had immediately gone to tell him.

Max smiled. “Well, good to know that I’m not breaking things.” Their eyes traced down to his hands again, one resting just inches from their hip on the wood, the other still holding a quill. Some sort of papers sat in front of him, though Max did not look too closely at them. “I see what you mean about the size of the tub, now.”

That, at least, drew a faint chuckle from him. “Indeed. I am sure that you have seen how the citadel is… scaled. Uh, scaled in size, I mean. I…” he cleared his throat again, and hastily set the quill aside and closed the lid on the ink beside it. “You get my meaning.”

If he were a human, Max was fairly sure, he would be blushing. They caught his gaze flickering up to the line of their waist, fabric clinging to their skin, then back down at the wood of the table again.

It felt absurd that it should feel difficult to ask again. Max took a deep breath. “Arend,” they said quietly, and his gaze immediately snapped up to meet theirs. “Is it possible that we are both… trying not to be presumptuous again?”

The absurd daring of pressing their mouth to his hand; even just the memory of it made them want to shiver. Max rested a hand on Shattershield’s wrist, fingers pointing up his arm. His gaze scanned down them and up again, and this time they saw the look of want there, not quite hidden in calm. He rumbled, and slowly nodded. “When you put it that way, I believe that it might be the case.” He met their eyes, and his voice softened. “Yes.”

They ran their fingers across the scales on the side of his arm, then as he turned his hand over in their grasp across the finer, smoother patterns of the inside of his wrist. They leaned in towards him, not even sure if it was intentional or some sort of shifting gravity in the room, as he brought his hand up to rest on their thigh, warm weight and the ghost of claws through the fabric. Max ran their other hand up his arm, his shoulder, up to the hot scales of his neck, heartbeat quickening in anticipation.

He went as if to stand, but Max moved quicker, resting one knee on the edge of the chair and reaching in to press their mouth to his neck. The feel of his scales against their tongue was familiarly welcome, but new all over again, subtle texture varying as their mouth explored it and as Shattershield rumbled again, low and burring.

His hand slid up along their thigh, grazing over their hip. Max kissed at his skin again, a third time, hearing the huff of his breath and their own racing heart as they bit faintly at his shoulder. His other hand came up to their back, hot, perfect, and Max moaned softly against him as his touch traced them.

“I worried you’d changed your mind,” they admitted, drawing their lips away just long enough to do so before kissing his chest again. Shattershield grunted, and pressed against the small of their back, towards him. “That I’d just be awkwardly waiting for two days.”

He grumbled, and they caught a glimpse of a frown before he cocked his head around and ran his tongue along the base of their neck. Max gasped, knees almost buckling from the scorching reminder even before his teeth brushed their skin. Hand tightening on Shattershield’s shoulder, they shifted their knee to outside his thigh, his leg hot against theirs.

This time it was not an easy slip into position, and they half-fell into his lap, catching themselves on his shoulders at the same as his hands tightened around them. But then they caught their balance, tightening their thighs about his, and let themselves grow breathless as Shattershield’s tongue and teeth formed patterns against their skin. At the first harder bite, they drew in their breath sharply, hand sliding up to cup the back of his neck at the memory of what it had been to wear the scatterings of bruises across their skin, to feel the controlled power of his touch.

There was only one door between them and the outside world this time, not a whole mountain, but they knew that they could get away with letting their breathing go ragged, with responding to curls of Shattershield’s tongue with sounds deep in their throat. They traced circles on the back of his neck as they slipped their other hand beneath his shirt again, catching their breath as the pattern of his muscles moved with his breath beneath their touch. It was like a song they had heard before, that had lingered half-formed in their mind ever since, like muscle memory to run their hand over his chest again.

Shattershield murred against their skin as his tongue drew up their throat to almost under their chin, tilting their head back with his jaw. Their hips arched against him, then they drew back so that they could turn their hand and slip it downwards instead. His belt was harder to undo from this angle, and they almost thought they should be somewhat embarrassed for that thought but could not bring themselves to be as they let their hand drift beneath his clothes, following the intricate patterns of his scales down his body.

They wanted to wrap their hand around his cock again. Feel the hot slick patterns of him; there was still a ghost of not-quite-real about it all, even as his hand made its way beneath their shirt to tease at their nipple in time with the movements of his tongue.

“Fuck,” they breathed, and were not quite sure what Shattershield’s rumble against their neck meant for a reply but did not much care as long as his mouth was still doing what it was doing. Already teasing on the edge of pain with the nips and grazes of his teeth, already more sensitive than even the hot water had left it.

They gasped as their hand found the slit of his scales again, then moved back up to rub circles against the very base of his stomach. This time it was a _growl_ that slipped between Shattershield’s teeth, and his bitten hold on Max’s shoulder tightened painfully even as Max pressed their lips tightly together to prevent a louder moan creeping forwards.

As he released his teeth, he was panting, hot breath against Max’s skin. They rubbed their cheek against his scales, curling their fingers against the back of his neck, only for his hands to abruptly move to beneath their thighs and for him to lift them up onto the desk.

Max yelped as the jolt caught them by surprise, going to grab at his shoulders before feeling the wood beneath them again and realising what was going on. Their heart jumped. Considering the years they had spent threatening anyone who even joked about taking advantage of their height to simply pick them up, it was rather unfair how the easy strength with which Shattershield did it was like fire down their spine.

“What are…” they said breathlessly.

Shattershield pushed back their damp hair as he stood up, touch absurdly gentle when he had so casually moved them and as he loomed over them now. “I believe I made promises about a table,” his other hand undid their belt, shirt rucked up to expose it, “that my leg could not follow through on.”

Oh. _Oh_. That was a jolt of arousal that Max adamantly did _not_ need right at this moment, not when they were already heading for giddiness with it. Heat seemed to flare between their thighs, and without thinking they pressed their legs together as if to contain it. Shattershield glanced down at their legs, and Max realised how it must look, even flushed-cheeked and dishevelled.

“Is that–” he began.

“It’s not no,” said Max quickly. “Oh god, it’s not no.” They grabbed a fistful of his shirt to pull him in, kissing his chest where it was exposed by the laces, parting their knees about him again. His hand pressed their hair off their face, claws of the other grazing their hip. “You caught me by surprise there,” they breathed against his scales.

That rhythmic, purring sound started up in his chest, and Max shivered as they felt it on their lips. Shattershield released their hair, and then _both_ of his hands were stroking along their thighs, lingering water making the fabric more clinging than usual as his palms dragged over it. Dragging their teeth over his scales, Max felt Shattershield finish untucking their shirt, then loosen the laces on their trousers as they kicked off their socks to feel the cool air on their bare feet.

Really, they should have exited the bathroom in just the shirt, all things considered. The thought came to them so abruptly that they coughed on the laughter that bubbled up through them, of how much more awkward they would sure both have found the situation. Probably it should feel true by now, should not feel as if any minute one of them was going to turn away, but when Max was still grateful for every touch of Shattershield’s hands, still appreciating every moment that they could press themselves to his skin, it could not stop feeling like a rush.

Shattershield grunted, a rough sound with a hint of a question as his hands hooked around the top of Max’s trousers. “I will need your assistance,” he said, in a slightly sheepish undertone.

Probably not a _need_ , Max could not help but think. Shattershield probably _could_ have simply lifted them up again, and they still weren’t quite sure what to feel about how enticing that thought was. They nodded, managing to not headbutt his chest, and put their hands down on the desk either side of themselves to lift their weight off.

With a huff, Shattershield pushed Max’s trousers and underwear down both at once, over their hips and round the curve of their ass to the top of their thighs. With him standing between their knees still, the clothes would go no further. Shattershield seemed to realise it and shifted backwards, letting Max bring their knees together again as they lowered themselves back onto the desk.

Or at least, that was the _intention_. The paper underneath their right hand slipped, and the next thing that Max knew they slammed down on their side, feeling things scatter from behind them, thuds and clatters and the swish of flyaway papers that they knew only too well. Max was too surprised even to cry out, lying there stunned for a moment with Shattershield still holding their trousers about their mid-thighs, then Shattershield hastily clasped their arm to help them sit back up again.

“Are you alright?” he said.

“Just my dignity again,” said Max. They shoved their hitched-up shirt down into their lap in a vague attempt at regaining it. “What did I knock over?”

“I… probably should have considered the things on my desk,” said Shattershield, embarrassment ringing in his voice. He gestured behind them, and Max turned to see scattered papers all over the floor. It made the inspector in them wince. “I should–” he nodded.

“Oh, yes, go,” said Max. Shattershield went to step away, paused to do up his belt with another clearing of his throat, then skirted quickly around the desk before stooping to start gathering the papers. Max grabbed their trousers, then hesitated for a moment unsure whether they should finish removing them or pull them back up again.

 _That_ was certainly a question they’d never asked themselves before. Max glanced over at Shattershield, decided they definitely could not bring themselves to ask it aloud, and then looked down at the faint pink marks already starting to become visible across the exposed part of their chest. If this _did_ turn out to be something other than a pause in proceedings, well, they could certainly put their clothes back on again.

They pulled their trousers off, folded them in half and for want of a better idea put them on the desk as they stepped down to the ground. The Egbert memorial shirt at least had in its favour that it was long enough to be decent, only a few inches above their knees, as they picked up their socks as well before stepping round to join Shattershield.

“Feels like a betrayal to my order to be making this mess,” they admitted, kneeling down to gather up the closest papers. They hoped that they were not supposed to have been in any particular order, but suspected they would not be so lucky. “Sorry.”

Shattershield waved a hand. “I’m so used to having the desk to myself I apparently forgot they were not static items.” He leaned over and retrieved a couple of sheets from the hearth, where mercifully no fire had been lit yet for the evening. “Hmm. That could have been unfortunate.”

He turned to Max, as if to say something else, and for a moment simply stared, wordless, instead. He opened his mouth, then closed it again with a faint snort, and finally blinked a couple of times and cleared his throat.

“I – ahem. I will sort these out another time. As long as they are back on the desk, I think.” He stood up and crossed to put the papers back in place, then bent again to pick up the handful of books that had fallen just at the feet of the desk, smoothing out a few pages before piling them up.

Max gathered the last of the papers, just as Shattershield picked up the tray and pair of – mercifully, empty – cups that had also been knocked away, and returned them to the desk. For such a wide expanse of wood, Max had to say, quite a lot of it was being taken up with items. Although that _was_ the proper use for a desk, rather than their own behaviour.

“Right,” said Shattershield. “That should be…” his gaze came to fall on Max again, and he stumbled on his words, reaching up to touch his forehead for a moment and coughing. “You are _deeply_ distracting in that.”

It hadn’t been the word at the _forefront_ of Max’s mind when they had chosen to bring the shirt with them on visiting Mistmire again – they had a third shirt with them as well, for that matter, but it certainly did not come with the memories, the… associations that this one did. They bit their lip, crossed back to put the papers they had gathered next to his, then turned to brush their fingers against the back of his arm.

His windows faced west, and late afternoon air painted the room in deep gold. Fitting, for this city. But it was a whole new thrilling feeling to stand in the sunlight and feel the whisper of the breeze as they ran their hand up Shattershield’s arm, pushing up his sleeve as they did so.

“Maybe I should be distracting somewhere away from paperwork,” they said.

Gods, the intensity in his gaze as he looked at them was enough to make heat spread through their body again. Like he had forgotten that the rest of the room was even there, like he wanted to devour them. Somehow it seemed even more marked, more noticeable, by the light of day than it had by the glow of the fire.

When he did not reply, they stepped closer, taking hold of his wrist and raising his hand to the level of their lips again. He growled low in his throat as Max kissed his palm, then up along each joint of his thumb to suck at his claw. At the very least, it seemed to focus Shattershield as Max turned his hand over to nip at his knuckles before giving a small, teasing lick to each one.

“I could get reacquainted with these hands,” they suggested.

Shattershield nodded.

Max gave one more drag of their lips against his thumb. For all the catch in his breathing, Shattershield seemed almost rooted to the spot, and as strange as it was to lead him to his own room Max was left with the feeling that Shattershield was at least as lost for what to do as they were. Licking their lips, Max took a small step towards Shattershield’s room and tugged on his wrist, and with another rumble he swept forwards, pushing back open the door to his room as Max, heart racing, kept their hold on his wrist along the way.

The bed certainly made a more _stable_ place for them to end up. Max could feel the warmth of the sunlight on their skin as Shattershield peeled off their shirt from his seat on the bed as they stood in front of him. The air was just cool enough for them to feet it against their skin, but it only made his hands feel warmer as they traced back down their sides, only made the touch of his tongue more noticeable as he traced across their chest, grazing his teeth against their skin. They could not reach much of him, no matter how their tongue seemed to itch to run over his scales, but traced one hand through the _eshrazani_ behind his jaw to hear him rumble and feel them twitch beneath their fingers. His tongue curling around their nipple had them digging their nails into his arm with a shuddering gasp.

His hand traced lower, cupping their ass and drawing them up and in until they were almost on their tiptoes in front of him, his tongue following the lines of their hipbones beneath their skin. But Max had never been all that patient to begin with, and weeks apart had too many different yearnings vying beneath their skin for their action.

“Arend,” they said softly. It felt… strange, but good, to say his name again. And in any case, it did make him look up. “Give me room to touch you.”

They squeezed his arm, about all of him that was in range, and he huffed apologetically and shifted further back onto the bed. As his arms slipped free from around them, Max caught hold of the front of his shirt and gestured upwards with it, and Shattershield smiled as he bowed his head and made it easier for Max to slip the shirt off him.

Gods, the expanse of his chest seemed more golden than ever in the sunlight. Max wondered what it would be like to actually see him fight, even spar with or train others. The scars over which Max had run their fingers, their mouth; the subtle grains of his scales they had spent hours learning. Max cocked their head towards the head of the bed and gave a light shove to his shoulder; without hesitation Shattershield went to lie back on the bed, hooking a hand around Max’s bare waist to pull them along after him.

It had not only been this that they had missed. His words, the grown-familiar sound of his voice, waking up with the weight of his arm around them, all of them had their moments of flaring in Max’s mind. Not least on cold mornings when getting out of bed felt more like a duty than a desire. But the memories that had stirred most frequently had been ones like these, straddling his hips, mouthing across his chest, hand slipping down to rub at the base of his stomach again. Then again, in their fantasies his trousers had not still been on and in the way.

They undid his belt for a second time, slipping their hand beneath as he wound a hand into their hair. The movement of their fingers against him was easy now, fluid, until they could wrap their hand around his cock and traced the ridged pattern of him. He gasped beneath them, low and rough, claws on the inside of their thigh until their hand trembled against him and they muffled a whine against his chest.

“What do you want?” said Shattershield, claws gentle against their scalp. The touch of his fingers was so high on their thigh that they could have almost rocked their hips against his hand, cock hot and hard in their hand as they ran their thumb over the pattern of bumps on the underside.

For a moment they could not look up at him, too many possible replies at once in their head, tongue too ready to blurt something that could be too much. Just for a _start_ , they wanted to steal him back away to that distant cabin. Wanted moments they had had before – the feel of coming apart around him, the sound deep in his throat as he came, the feeling of him tense against his own restraint as they pushed him to the bed to ride him. But wanted equally to know what new sensations they could find in him, from him, every one of their senses strung with anticipation.

They ran their tongue over their lips before raising their head to face him. “Right now?” they said, because that at least was an easier question to face. Shattershield traced his claws down the line of their spine. “I want to see how long it takes to make you forget to be quiet.”

A growl rumbled through his chest, too low to hear, but Max could feel it through their palms still pressed against him. “I think you will find me rather harder than that to stir.”

Max considered pointing out that his cock in their hand might suggest something rather different, but that was still some distance from the sounds they had once managed to stir from him within the sheltered walls of the cabin. They doubted they would draw anything like that much noise from him again, too sensible to his surroundings here, but even the soft threat of it made his breath hitch and a hiss escape between his teeth.

He ran his hand around to their mouth, thumbing their lower lip until they caught it between their teeth, stroking him more firmly to feel the patterns of his cock against their palm. Saying something in hurried Draconic, Shattershield caught hold of their wrist, but as Max cocked their head it was only to remove his hands so that he could sit up and reach for the laces on his trousers again. With a glow of triumph in their chest, Max turned to assist him, pawing him out of his clothes and casting them aside before climbing back astride his lap and pressing kisses to his shoulders and neck.

“ _Vorellim_ ,” Shattershield murmured against their hair, bringing up one hand between their thighs. Max shivered as finally his touch slipped high enough, moaned as his rough fingertips teased against their skin. He muttered something further in Draconic, less distinct, letting Max grind down against his hand as they sucked against the skin of his shoulder, before angling his fingers to brush against their clit. “Max.”

They bit down against his scales, as his fingers grew more insistent against them, sending trembling waves of pleasure up their skin. It smouldered under their skin, shivered in their thighs as they brought their fingers up to the head of his cock to hear him snarl right beside their ear.

Already they could feel themselves getting close, weeks of tension already threatening to break over them at the coaxing touch of his fingers. They gasped a curse against him, thighs starting to shake, then swallowed hard and drew back to give another, firmer shove to Shattershield’s shoulder.

He hit his back harder this time, the wood of the bed creaking, as Max guided him with one hand to sink down onto him.

“Oh, _fuck_.” They should have thought that through, they realised, words breathless at the abrupt stretch of him. Even aching for him, even as wet as they were, the sudden fullness against their walls was almost too much as they hung their head above him. “Arend.” A near-whimper escaped them, even their own breath as it moved them enough to make it feel as if he was shifting inside them.

They had thought that they remembered it clearly, the ridges of him, the way that the curve dragged against them. Memory did not do it justice, though, the rush all through their body at the slightest rock of their hips against him, the almost feverish feeling on their skin.

“Max.” Shattershield’s voice was steady, palm on their cheek. They lowered their eyes from the ceiling to meet his gaze. “Max. _Wux bensvenk_?”

Draconic. He had taught them those words, among the handfuls of phrases. Max took a deep breath, steadying themselves against him, and dredged for its meaning. Ah, of course. “Yes,” they said, nodding against his hand. “Yes, I’m fine. I’m…” they swallowed, then huffed a laugh. “I’d forgotten…”

Even their panting breaths seemed to jolt around him. Max slowed their breathing, running their hands along Shattershield’s chest, then adjusted their thighs about him. His thumb brushed their cheekbone.

“ _Akison_ ,” Max replied, collecting themselves enough for at least one word.

Shattershield chuckled, then wound his hand up and more firmly into Max’s hair, letting the curls tumble against his hand and their cheek. It turned to a growl as Max ground their hips against him, the stretch still almost too much but worth it to see the way that Shattershield’s muscles grew taut and feel the threat of his claws grow tighter.

They began to move against him, slow, careful, every inch of them so sensitive to his touch that it was like fire rippling down their spine. Guiding his other hand down to their thigh, where it would not be too much, Max rolled their hips in steady, patient waves, muting a moan on their lips as heat suffused them.

He stroked their thigh in time with their movements, a gentle acknowledgement as their body grew used to him again – so quickly, perhaps, after so long, but it felt almost like no time at all – and they were able to move more firmly, strokes of their hips against him.

Glancing up from their hands braced against his chest, they found him looking at them still, in that intense dark-eyed way.

“Distracting, still?” Max said, about all that they could muster. They crept their hands forwards, lowering their angle over him, then had to pause with a whimper as something about the position spilled pleasure through them.

“Always,” said Shattershield, voice rough. He cupped the small of their back, still distant enough to not overwhelm, and as he nuzzled against their shoulder again Max thought for a moment he might bring his teeth to bear but instead there was only his breath and the nudge of his scales.

They breathed his name against the heel of his hand, as even their own movement against him became almost too much to bear. A ragged groan broke from them, the pressure curling up through them not just a day or a week, gods, every moment since bidding Shattershield farewell on the mountainside crawled through their skin in waves of _wanting_ and of pleasure in equal depth. Soft sounds escaped them, not even words, and they realised through his own breathless sounds that Shattershield was offering his hand, shifted now to stroke gently with his thumb at their inner thigh.

Max nodded, with a vaguely affirmative sort of noise, and with a grunt Shattershield bought his fingers up against their clit. It took barely a touch before Max could feel themselves coming apart, stroking touch shuddering through them as fireworks seemed to go off behind their eyes and their heart pounded in their ears. It was too much, blissfully too much, more than they could put into words as climax rushed through them in tightening waves.

They muffled a groan against Shattershield’s hand, still able to know better than to tease him with the idea of making noise only to do so themselves instead. But not for the first time, he growled deeper and rougher against their shoulder as they came, and they dropped their hand to make knuckling, kneading motions at the base of his stomach as they would to stir him to hardness in the first place. He cut off into a snarl, hand tightening in Max’s hair and yes, _there_ , biting down on their shoulder as he came, hips pushing tight to theirs.

Max was still half-floating, aftershocks still trembling through them, so sensitive it was almost pain as he rocked against them and they felt the hot rush of him. At least his hand had stilled, twitching thrusts of his hips slowing as Max bit the palm beside their cheek and sucked none-too-gently at it. Shattershield ran his tongue over their shoulder as he fell still, each breath still rough and almost a growl of its own against their skin.

The cool of the air became more noticeable as the waves of climax receded, a faint ache in them from throwing themselves upon him so abruptly but gods, they could not even regret it. Max kissed Shattershield’s fingertips one last time before releasing his hand to sit up again, breathless and far closer to content than they had felt these weeks.

“Looks like you’re right about not making noise,” they said, hearing their own voice still rough with desire. Shattershield chuckled, stroking Max’s upper arm gently. It had been good to see him in the sunlight that day, and now it only made him seem more beautiful as it spilled across them both.

He grunted. “Max, I…” the words trailed off, and Shattershield frowned. “Oh no, I cannot say that.”

Curiosity widened their smile as Shattershield looked… well, vaguely disappointed, if anything, eyes fixed on the wall behind Max. “Say what?” they said.

Shattershield closed his eyes as he sighed, his expression making it quite clear that he knew that, having _said_ that he had been about to say something – inappropriate? Foolish? Strange? – he would have piqued Max’s curiosity. But it was fond, and there was a smile just at the corner of his mouth as he looked back up at them again. “I almost found myself choosing this entirely inappropriate moment to say that I had missed you.”

To be fair, it would not exactly be unfitting for the way that they had fallen together, but Shattershield’s bed alone was not the _only_ reason that Max had sought him out again. They snorted, but could not bring themselves to tease him when he already looked irked with himself.

“You see, at least you thought to stop yourself before saying it,” they pointed out instead. “I’m pretty sure that you’ve seen that I have no such filter, especially… at times like this.” The twitch of Shattershield’s smile implied that he was being too polite to agree. Max ran a hand gently down his chest, leaning into the touch of his arm, and let their voice soften. “But I missed you as well.”

“After our conversations before, I did not think it likely that you would not choose to come here. But I…” he trailed off with another grunt. “I was glad to see you again.”

“The Order allows two days turnaround time for the paperwork, and… that is what I told your librarian,” said Max. This would have seemed too forward to say when they first arrived, but with it becoming plainer how easily the spark between them rekindled… well, now felt like a slightly more appropriate time. “But, uh, I made good time on my way here. I could probably wait six days, and still be back when they expect me.” They did make sure not to complete _every_ job they were given faster than they had to, or they knew people would start to expect it every time and even when it was not feasible. “Five days, to be safe in case the journey back isn’t so good.”

It seemed to take a moment to sink in, and then Shattershield propped himself on his elbow and regarded Max steadily. “You could be here longer,” he said.

His voice was so collectedly level that Max was not sure what thoughts ran behind it. But they nodded. “Yes, if you wish it.”

He reached up, claw brushing against their lower lip once more, and smiled. “ _Vethparijan_ , I cannot think of a time that I would send you away.”

A blush crawled up Max’s cheeks, heat spreading in their chest, and they reached to kiss him, to fall into him, once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What, more Draconic? Yup. [One post](http://slushlush.com/2013/04/a-draconic-primer/) and [two post](http://slushlush.com/2015/10/lonely-planet-vayemniri-or-more-draconic-for-you/) from Erin M Evans who writes Forgotten Realms novels, and this time I've only used canon phrases.  
> \- _Vorellim_ is an endearment, meaning 'beautiful'  
> \- _Wux bensvenk?_ means 'Are you alright?'  
> \- _Akison_ or _Axun_ , depending on dialect, means 'Yes'  
> \- _Vethparijan_ , which made an appearance in the previous fic, is a romantic endearment even if it literally means 'my little shield' or 'my buckler'


	2. Chapter 2

It was probably for the best that they did not immediately gravitate to Shattershield's desk on Max's second visit, all things considered. Not least that being on late watch had him returning – soaked to the scales, generally, as the weather turned to days of rain – past midnight each night, neither of them interested in anything more than curling between warm sheets.

Of course, it merely served to move the days around, and though they were free to ignore the ring of the first bells before dawn there was only so much of the noise in the citadel it was possible to sleep through. If they were going to be awake anyway, Max pointed out the first morning, they might as well make it something pleasant to wake up to, before pressing their mouth to his skin to draw forth muted growls from between his teeth.

They took lunch together as if it were breakfast, and if the paladins of Dragon D’Or had been surprised on the first day to see the same member of the Inspectors Guild visiting them twice in a row, they were even more curious from the second as rumour spread that Max so much as knew Shattershield. They waved it off as mutual acquaintances, which was technically true, but when they told him that night he pointed out that it would not be long until word got around that they were not staying in the Order's guest quarters.

“Are you... concerned about whether others in your Order know?” said Max. They were sat beside the bathtub as Shattershield bathed away not just the mud of the streets but the clinging cold of the rain, in their nightshirt already and well aware of their hair going even more haywire with the steam.

Shattershield paused, expression so steady it was hard to read even now. He scanned their face. “Are you?” he said finally.

Max shrugged. “They aren't my order.” Truth be told, they were not sure they would have a problem with others from the Inspectors Order knowing, other than the fact that it probably was some sort of conflict of interests for Max to then be taking every job to Mistmire. “I... don't have strong feelings either way.”

It might have been a lie, but they honestly weren't sure. The question had not really occurred to them, and other than the worrying thought of being prevented from taking messages to Mistmire - they had little enough time off each year to travel there otherwise - they were not at all sure what they thought of others knowing. Shattershield, among his own Order, doubtless had more to consider.

He grunted. “Well, I am not looking to hide you.”

Perhaps well gone midnight was not the best time to have such a conversation. Max chuckled at Shattershield's choice of words, leaning their chin on their arm on the side of the tub. “Not trying to keep me in your hoard?” they teased.

He reached to brush one knuckle against their cheek, leaving a damp smear in its wake, and huffed. “I am not sure you could be kept anywhere,” he retorted.

“Not without a long leash,” said Max; he made a noise of feigned disgust, still smiling, and they giggled against their arm. “I won't be declaring anything, but... not bother to deny?” They cocked their head. “I'm not sure how you want to handle things.”

“I doubt anyone will be so bold as to ask directly,” he said. Perhaps that was another reason that Egbert got along better with his current friends than with this Order, Max could not help but think. “Though if they are, a stern look should be enough. Otherwise... well, you can say truthfully enough how we met.” Another grunt. “Anyone who has been here long enough to know of Egbert the Careless will be more interested to hear of him, anyway.” Max tried but failed to suppress a yawn. “ _Vethparijan_ , go to bed. I will dry off and join you.”

“I was expecting you to warm it,” they replied, but truth be told even in winter Mistmire was not that cold, and the citadel warmer still. Max unfurled from the stool they had dragged over and leaned over to kiss his shoulder. “Sorry if I fall asleep before you get there.”

He raised a hand as if to stroke their cheek, then caught himself. “Mm. Not with wet hands.”

With a soft laugh, and wondering whether the conversation ought to have felt more weighty than it did, Max retreated to the bed and was just about awake enough to mumble a welcome and twine themselves around Shattershield when he joined them.

It was not until Max's fifth day there, out of the six they had gotten away with last time and fancied their chances at again, that Shattershield was theirs for the entire day. Pouring rain made it unreasonable to leave the citadel, even to point out sights from the window to discuss, and in a way it was like those first days in the cabin once again. Other than being presentable enough to leave the rooms for meals – Max stuck to the laying on of their own hands, lest Shattershield was called upon and needed his power for something more serious than their own roughness with each other – there was at least for a while nothing to concern themselves with, and little to remember except where they had left conversations when the time came to pick them up again.

Shattershield left briefly to answer a message, leaving Max poring over a map of the city, written in Draconic instead of Common, which showed historical notes, tunnels beneath the roads, and observations that members of the Order had kept over the years about the defensive points of the city. The handwriting was neat enough that Max could make out words here and there, but their Draconic was still so limited that looking at the drawings was telling them far more.

They heard the door open behind them again, and spared a glance to confirm that it was Shattershield slipping back in, robed but unarmoured, before looking back to the maps. Maps had fascinated them since they were a child and the ones they saw the most were scratches in dust to tell each other where they had found interesting things in the fields. A map annotated with the history of a city was a far more interesting prospect.

They heard the click of Shattershield’s claws on the stone as he crossed the floor, then the way they became muffled as he reached the rug. His hand ran up their side, and the warm of his presence rolled against their back.

It was easy to feel the subtle shift in the way his fingers brushed against them, in the press of his snout to their shoulder followed by a slow trace of his tongue. An offer more than a question, and Max bit their lip to muffle the sound on their tongue as his teeth grazed the sore skin of their shoulder and pleasure shimmered down their spine. Gods, even the most delicate touch from him could almost unravel them.

They rolled up the map, having watched carefully as Shattershield had opened it, breathing heavier as one of his hands ran hot over their stomach and up to tease their nipple through the fabric of their shirt. He rumbled, nuzzling against them, and their first attempt to put the map back in its case almost missed altogether as another nip of his teeth startled them.

“You know I have to put this away,” they said, keeping the words just about the clear side of breathless. He made a sound of assent against their skin, even as his claws dragged over their breast through linen. “I’ll not see it damaged.”

Something which he knew full well, and Max _knew_ that he knew, and it was really very difficult indeed to do up a scroll case when Shattershield was licking his way across their collarbone while his fingers pinched and rolled at their nipple. They managed it, though, realising as they did so that Shattershield’s desk was a lot clearer than it had been last time, most of the papers removed to leave only one neat pile, a couple of books, and a firmly closed inkstand.

With a low growl, Shattershield leaned in closer from behind them, intention unmistakeable and the wall of his chest a hot weight against their back. The edge of the desk was uncomfortable against their lower stomach, but Shattershield had rucked up their shirt and now slid both hands beneath, one on each side of their chest in a hot, rough touch that pinned them back against him.

“Arend,” they gasped. One of his hands slid down as he rumbled against them, only for his hand to meet with the wood of the desk and it turn to a huff. Max snorted at the irritation in it, pushing themselves away from the desk to press back against him. “Well, my apologies for being short.”

“Mm. That, we can work around.”

He drew back, which was something between a relief from the desk’s edge and an annoyance of losing his touch, but it did give Max enough room to turn around. They put their hands on the edge of the desk, about to hitch themselves up, only for Shattershield to scoop his hands beneath their ass and lift them himself, sliding them smoothly back onto the desk without missing a beat. They grabbed at his shirt as the movement caught them by surprise, and felt a wide-eyed look of alarm cross their face.

Shattershield paused. “Are you alright?”

“I, um.” There probably wasn’t any good way around confessing to it, really. “People sometimes try to pick me up just because I’m short. I mean, not compared to halflings or gnomes,” or dwarves, but Max was not sure that even among all the paladin orders they had seen they could have met someone foolish enough to try to pick up a dwarf without warning, “but short for a human. People thought it was funny, though it’s… actually pretty annoying.”

“Oh, my apologies.” The crease of his brow as he frowned was subtler than on humans or similar peoples, but noticeable all the same as he glanced down at his hands still on their hips and then back up again. “I suppose I should have asked, I…”

“I mean… I probably should have said something the first time you did it, and not just about your leg,” said Max. As Shattershield went to draw his hands away, they caught hold of his wrists to stop him. “But… I like it when it’s you,” they added, having almost blurt the words out and leaving them tumbling across each other. The heat spreading over their cheeks and down their chest had nothing to do with arousal as he looked up in what looked like a mixture of surprise and confusion. Max swallowed. “I really wouldn’t normally let anyone pick me up. But when you do it…” they shrugged, feeling a little awkward still, and swallowed. “Then I like it. I think I’m still working on understanding that.”

His frown softened, but his hands were still not moving from beneath their hold, and he was regarding them carefully. “Do you want me to stop? At least until you’ve had time to understand, I mean.”

Max was pretty sure that their face had to be all but aflame, but brought themselves to meet his gaze as they ran a hand up his chest. “Or I could gather some more data,” they said, as casually as they could muster. “If you would help me collect it.”

Finally, his hands moved again, one sliding to their hip while the other came in to push a loose curl off their temple. “I think we can work on that,” Shattershield murmured, and then he was leaning in again and Max gasped in both surprise and desire as he angled his snout almost down their shirt to draw a line with his tongue up the centre of their chest.

They laughed, breathlessly, wrapping their legs around his hips and tensing their thighs against him, then reaching to run their hands up under his shirt again. His hand on the small of their back held them propped into place even if their instinct was to feel unsteady without their own hands supporting them, and they leaned into the trust of him as they set about untucking his shirt and pushing it upwards.

It became something like a game, both of them suppressing laughter as Max wrested the shirt up, Shattershield slipped free an arm only for the neck to catch on his head, and he swapped to his left hand to support Max so that he could slip out of the shirt altogether. Max’s fingers traced the lines of his muscles as he dragged his tongue _over_ their shirt, the feeling dulled against their nipple but still enough to make warmth curl in their gut.

His other hand stroked firmly up their thigh, thumb along the inside drawing a moan from them, then reached up to tug at their buckle. It did not release immediately, and as Shattershield glanced down Max hastily undid it themselves instead before winding one hand around the back of his neck and running the other down to tease along the line of his own belt, alternating fingertips and nails along the fine patterns of scales there.

With an approving sound, Shattershield went back to letting his tongue coax at their nipple through their shirt, teeth no more than momentary touches without pressure that still left them breathless. His hand worked loose the lacings of their trousers and then slid down, heat of his touch flooding against their skin from the first delicate touch of his fingers.

They breathed his name, the word coming easier each day, it seemed, and he made a rolling purr of a sound as he rubbed along their folds, touch coming back slick-wet when his hand shifted minutely and brushed a fresh part of their skin. Max rocked their hips into his touch, squirming their thighs about him and feeling his claws dig harder into their back, almost stinging. They rolled their hand to use their knuckles against his scales, and he growled as his fingers came up to their clit, rubbing close enough to spark but not quite _there_.

With only a slight fumble, they undid his belt to lower their own hand, other so firm on his neck that they were not sure whether it was more for his certainty or their own. A whimper cracked into a gasp on their lips as his touch traced down again over yearning skin, fingertips just dipping inside them even as they breathed faster, trying to tilt their hips into his touch as their heart raced.

“Don’t stop,” they said, only for him to draw his fingers back and do the same thing again, and this time Max could not help but whine. “Fuck, I meant–” their fingers dipped, searching for the head of his cock, but it was unsuccessful and they returned their firm attentions to his scales. “I meant don’t stop _there_.”

“Oh,” said Shattershield, with a sound that could have been clearing his throat or could have been a suppressed laugh, but without looking up. “Those are quite different things…”

“It’s not too easy to think right now – _mmh_ –” their legs tightened around him again as he acceded, finger slipping inside then rocking against them in controlled, shallow thrusts as he offered the rest of his hand to grind against. “Oh _gods_.”

If they craned their neck, they could just about brush their lips to the scales on the top of his head, but as they did so he shifted upwards until they could more easily kiss along the line of his mouth, breathlessly reaching for scales and teeth alike. It had to be deliberate, they thought as he breathed fast against them, in just the right place for them to muffle a moan against the side of his jaw as they rolled their hips against his hand.

The hand on their back wound upwards, and Max made a sound of surprise but did not flinch, let themselves _trust_ him, as he pulled them close to his chest and supported them across the shoulders, nails dragging back and forth against the left side of their head. It stung again, but Max could not spare much thought for it, not as they reached for Shattershield’s shoulder, buried another moan in his neck, and shuddered against the slow, firm movements of his hand.

“Damn it, Max,” he huffed against them, “don’t you stop now.”

Oh gods, their hand _had_ stilled against him, too caught up in their own waves of pleasure. With a wordless sound against his shoulder that they hoped passed for apology, or at least acknowledgement, Max set their right hand to kneading against his scales again, listening for the roughening of his breath. His hand moved deeper against them, and they moaned again as the side of Shattershield’s snout, pattern of teeth and scales familiar now, brushed against their cheek and hair beneath the touch of his hand.

And then he stopped.

“Max, what–” Shattershield was drawing away, while Max blinked in disorientation as his hand stilled within them and the heated presence of him withdrew. They made a faint, confused sound, only for Shattershield to pull his hand from their trousers almost rough-fast, putting the back of his hand to the side of his jaw with his brow furrowed in concern again.

“What is it?” said Max, still trying to catch up. They looked at Shattershield’s hand as well, only for it to come away with blood smeared on his scales. “Oh gods. Are you okay?”

“It’s not mine,” said Shattershield. “It – sit up,” he added, and Max squirmed their hips to a better angle to do so, clenching their teeth against the almost painful arousal still bolting through them. Max could smell themselves on his hand as he reached to part their hair, and almost drew back from the touch but for the concern on his face. This time it was his fingers that came away stained with red. “ _Karshoj_. You are bleeding.”

They almost went to protest, but it was ridiculous when there was blood on his fingers and the best that Max could do was put one hand up to the side of their head, only to find blood in the curls there, and a throbbing pain as they pressed their hand against it. “I didn’t even notice,” they said, then inwardly rolled their eyes at themselves for stating what was so obvious.

“Stay there, I will fetch a cloth,” said Shattershield, brow still furrowed, and Max sighed heavily but could not very well disagree that it was sensible as they did their best to put pressure on something that they could not even see.

It was not even the _injury_ , that was the thing, it was the amount of blood sticking in their hair that was going to need washing out once they had even healed up the cut. Max hitched their trousers up at the back and leaned their head sideways to put the cut upwards, slowing their breathing as they did so.

It was only a moment before Shattershield returned, still distractingly shirtless and with his trousers hanging on his hips, but Max forced themselves to tear their eyes away as he passed them one linen cloth, which they pressed immediately to their head, while he wiped his hands and the side of his mouth with a second.

“Oh, you must have got a mouthful of blood,” said Max, with a wince. “I’m so sorry.”

Shattershield wiped the side of his mouth one more time, but shook his head. “No, it is not your fault. In fact, I suspect it was my claw.” He held up his left hand, fingers splayed, to show that one of his blunted claws had been nicked in such a way as to leave a sharp edge behind. “I did not think that blocking a knife would do that.” Putting the cloth down, he reached carefully for the one they were holding to their head. “May I look?”

“Probably easier than I can,” said Max, lifting the cloth slightly. Shattershield took gentle hold of it, parting Max’s hair with the claws of his other hand and mopping away the worst of the blood.

Shattershield grumbled, frowning still. “This is a mess. I apologise.”

“Don’t,” said Max. Accidents happened, and honestly they were much more frustrated about having to stop what they had been doing than about the cut. “Besides, I’ll lay on hands. I’m still not going to use yours,” they added, as he rumbled warningly. “I don’t want to have to explain to one of your other officers why you can’t call on as much power as usual.”

“Very well,” said Shattershield, although there was more than an edge of a huff to it. “I do not think there is anything to be done but lay on hands, then. At least it is a clean cut.”

And would doubtless not even be large enough to justify the amount of blood that Max was, now, rather _overly_ aware of against their scalp. They put their hand back up, and Shattershield removed the cloth to let their fingers slide over the stinging injury. Murmured prayers, ringing in Celestial on their tongue, and they felt the wound knit cleanly together to leave a single narrow scar, only tangible beneath their fingertips because they knew that it was there.

When Max opened their eyes again, Shattershield was still grim-faced, and they reached up with their unbloodied hand to touch his chest. “Things happen, Arend. At least it was that hand,” they added, with a glance in the general direction of the injury.

It was enough to make him wince. “Do not make such jokes. I will… file it down, while you are cleaning that blood,” he added.

In the heat of the moment, Max was not entirely sure that they would not have asked him to keep going if they had known exactly how minor the injury was, but the burning intensity had dimmed and they could think more clearly again. “Mm.” They glanced down at the notched claw. “I suppose it’s that or I tie you to the bedframe, isn’t it?”

Shattershield made _quite_ the choking sound, and by the time Max looked up again he was leaning away, coughing against the inside of his arm. He cleared his throat, gathered himself, but did not look round again. “Well, that is certainly one alternative,” he said, voice tight.

Max bit their lip, trying not to smile as Shattershield still seemed unable to look back at them. They had honestly meant it in jest, but the force of his reaction – and gods, they suspected he would be blushing if he could do so – did make it rather tempting. “Don’t worry,” they said, sliding down off the table again and pausing for just a moment to make sure their trousers did not promptly fall down. They put their hand on his forearm and reached up on tiptoe, until he lowered his arm to look at them again and gave them the opportunity to press a kiss to his wrist beyond the faint remaining of blood on his hand. “I won’t do it without asking first.”

It set him off spluttering indignantly again, but that was at least an improvement on being unable to look at them at all, and they laughed as they dropped down again.

“I’ll get this out of my hair. Think you’d better meet me at the bed this time?”

“We do have a better record,” Shattershield muttered, in an undertone that could have passed for being to himself.

Max cupped a hand around the bloodied curls to make sure that they did not drip on the floor or on… they glanced at their shoulder… or any more than they already _had_ on their shirt. At least with the citadel’s water supply there was not the libido-numbing shock of cold water awaiting them, and even better, Shattershield had already agreed to be waiting on the far side of this washing.

Later, back in the safe confines of the bed, Max used their mouth to check each of Shattershield’s claws in turn, until they were breathless and his other hand was painfully tight around their thigh. He rolled them to the sheets to put his own tongue to rather less teasing use, leaving them fighting to stay quiet through two climaxes before they managed to turn the tables on him and get him on his back. They teased, then claimed, each side of him in turn before falling into the sheets with him breathless and sated, the rain a thrumming sound outside.

Shattershield started up with his purring sound, grumbled when Max called it that and tried again to get them to use the Draconic term, then gave up and instead picked up their comb from his bedside table to start on their hair. If Max could have summoned the will to do more than lie with their head on his chest, the angle might have been easier, but he did not complain and seemed to be able to reach well enough.

“You’re right, though,” said Max softly, fingers doodling idle patterns on his chest. He gave a questioning grunt. “We do have a better record with the bed.”

After a moment’s pause, Shattershield began chuckling, a low ripple that shook Max in place even as they pushed themselves up on their elbows against the earthquake of it. “Perhaps it is better to use furniture as it was designed for.”

“Well, that I’m not so sure about.” They kissed his chest as he fell back to a smile and stopped shaking in place beneath them. “That bathtub of yours has certainly given me ideas.”

He snorted. “Somehow that does not surprise me.”

“Is that a no to the bathtub?” They raised an eyebrow.

Shattershield did not meet their eye, but at least did not try to hide himself in his elbow this time around. “Ask me again when I am done with your hair,” he said, hands returning to it.

With a smile, Max lay their head down on his chest again, let him return to work, and tried to remember what they had been talking about before they had so thoroughly distracted themselves. In the end it was not important, but it would probably be better to at least try to keep a coherent conversation going throughout the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- _Karshoj_ is a canon term from my usual source [Erin M Evans](http://slushlush.com/2013/04/a-draconic-primer/), which takes the linguistic place of "fuck" as a very flexible, all-context strong curse word, even if it doesn't necessarily literally mean sex.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I have removed the PWP tag because by this chapter, it has most definitely developed a plot. This chapter is also pretty much _entirely_ non-smutty, having nothing worse than you would get in a PG film and only bathing-based, non-sexual nudity. 
> 
> That said, this chapter does have some tentative attempts at worldbuilding (yay!) but also gets into some darker themes. For Dragon D'Or worldbuilding I have looked to previous D&D editions, with the [Dragonborn of Bahamut](https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Dragonborn_of_Bahamut) and the [Rite of Rebirth](https://forgottenrealms.fandom.com/wiki/Rite_of_Rebirth) (3e concepts, when D&D was just realising that players sometimes wanted to be dragonpeople) as bases for what goes down there.

Taking messages to different paladins and paladin orders, and the travel it involved, had meant that Max had seen a certain number of cultural differences over the years, and needed to adapt to differences even in orders that were made up only of humans. Dragon D’Or, for all its heavy dragonborn presence, were mostly born human, and what cultural oddities that they had were mostly a mark of the Order as a whole and not to do with their dragonborn status.

Mostly, at least. The rumbling sound which Shattershield insisted was not a purr but which had the cadence of one – and certainly which seemed to appear when he was pleased – was something Max had never met with before. His idle toying with their hair was about the novelty of it, perhaps, but it did not seem to fade to normality like his initial particular attention to their nipples, and Max was more than happy to indulge it.

And then there was… whatever it was he was currently doing.

As a thunderstorm rolled in through the cool evening, Max sat between Shattershield’s legs with their back to his chest, the loop of his arm around their waist the final side of a comforting, warm encirclement. Another month had seen their Draconic improve until they were trying to read from simple texts meant for learning paladins, short tales of the history of the Order of Dragon D’Or. Mostly, Shattershield was encouraging their pronunciation or providing the occasional new word, but in between, and with faint purrs, he was rubbing the side of his jaw, _eshrazani_ twitching, against the top of Max’s head.

The sensation was in no way unpleasant, but it _was_ distracting when they were trying to read statements about early Dragon D’Or members. Max paused in their reading at a particularly firm pass of Shattershield’s chin, timed as it was with a purring huff.

“Is my hair tickling you?” they opted for. Shattershield stopped, with a questioning grunt, his jaw still resting against Max’s curls. “I had it cut before I came here,” said Max. “You said your _eshrazani_ ,” they still had to say the word carefully, “were ticklish. Before. Is that why…”

“Oh,” said Shattershield, word dropping heavy from his lips. He shifted behind them in a vaguely discomforted way, clearing his throat. “I simply thought it felt pleasant. If it did not, then–”

“Oh, no, if it was deliberate then that’s fine,” said Max. It was odd, certainly, and they were still trying to work out exactly what he meant by it, but if he was doing it deliberately then there probably was, at least, good reason. “I just worried it was my hair.”

“No, it is not that,” he said. With a noise of assent, Max settled back into his arms, nestling against his chest and returning to their attempts to get through more than a sentence or two in Draconic without making an error or cursing themselves. Before too long, Shattershield resumed the rubbing gesture, and then his purring sounds as well.

The cracks of the lightning and the rolls of the thunder came increasingly close together, and the sound of the rain against the citadel grew denser. Shattershield remained patient, even until Max leaned their head back against his shoulder and put aside the book, utterly unable to work further.

“You are doing very well,” said Shattershield, running a hand up to trace his claws along their throat. “I wish half of our own paladins took so much care in their learning.”

“It’s nice to have something to keep my mind busy,” Max admitted. Then their smile grew more teasing, and they ran their hand down Shattershield’s thigh. “Keeps me from spending my whole time thinking of you.”

Shattershield sputtered and grunted, feigning disappointment as Max chuckled and kept their hand on his thigh. As he shook his head, they pushed up and then turned around to face him, kneeling between his thighs and as close as they ever got to eye-to-eye with him.

“Thinking of getting to see you;” Max continued, picking up one of Shattershield’s hands and pressing a kiss to the palm. “Of getting you to myself;” they did the same with the other side. “Of… working on my Draconic grammar while in your bed, apparently,” they added, with a look around them.

That made him chuckle, as Max bit the tip of one finger, tugging with their teeth. As a growl built in his chest, they raised their eyes to hold his gaze. Gods, the way that he looked at them was enough to burn against their skin, never mind the touch of him. They took his thumb into their mouth, then drew back slowly, tongue on the underside as they sucked at his scales.

“Something tells me part of that was not quite accurate,” he said dryly.

Max could not help smiling, even as they nibbled at the side of his thumb. They could feel Shattershield’s breath becoming deeper, faster, even as he left his wrists restrained in Max’s hold.

“Hmm. If I find myself working in your bed,” they said, sliding over and getting to their feet, tugging Shattershield after them. He rose to his feet, looking vaguely uncertain but interested, as Max backed easily across his room towards where they knew his door would be. They could keep track through fields and forests; rooms were no problem. “Then perhaps we should reconsider the reverse.”

The desk was all but a joke by now, despite the lingering sweet memory of Shattershield’s offer of ‘another time’ which had tipped them both into admitting they wanted things to continue. Three months down the line, for all the numerous times they had fallen into each other again, none of them had _actually_ been on any sort of table. Shattershield’s desk or otherwise.

As they led Shattershield back towards the desk, they saw realisation dawn in his eyes, and he gave a self-effacing chuckle. “Are you quite certain that is a good idea?”

“Sooner or later, I’m sure it will be,” said Max. As long as they were not forced to stop while he had his fingers buried in them, they were not sure it could go worse than the events of the previous visit. Keeping hold of one of his wrists, they released the other so that they could untuck their shirt, tugging the laces loose at the neck. Shattershield’s eyes slid down to the exposed skin, a hungry light sparking in them. “Maybe we just need to keep trying.”

Shattershield reached out to comb through their curls, shorter now as they were. “Hmm. I bow to your judgement.”

There had been plenty of times over the years when Max had questioned their own judgement, never mind having other people do so. But they were flattered that he thought so well of them, even as they backed up to the table and allowed him to pick them up and set them in place, hands skimming down their thighs.

Max kissed their way up the inside of his wrist, lapping at his scales, nipping – more gently than Shattershield could manage, but still with some force for them – their way along. For a reply, Shattershield reached to nuzzle against the base of their neck, breath hot and soft on already-tender skin, touch warm on their hip.

He grunted against their shoulder as they bit harder. “ _Vethparijan_ ,” he murmured, then ran his tongue in a delicate line across the skin, making them squirm beneath him.

They were quite happy to put thoughts of Draconic aside, to fall into languid kisses against his scales and slow, sweeping movements of their hands. They hooked fingers into his belt to tug him closer, stomach tensing as they almost fell back before catching themselves as he chuckled. They ran their leg against his, having learned better than to wrap their legs around him while still clothed, as he gave another low growl. Nothing frantic, nothing desperate, but a deliberate slow pace into each other.

The pounding footsteps outside did not mean all that much, not as Max’s mouth was just shifting from Shattershield’s bicep to his chest, but then they heard shouting and pulled back.

“Captain!” someone was shouting, from outside. “Captain Shattershield!”

Shattershield snapped upright, looking around. “That’s Sergeant Frostpeak.” He pulled away from Max completely, striding towards the door, and Max hastily tucked their shirt back in again and climbed off the desk as the footsteps became louder and gave way to hammering at the door.

“Captain!”

Shattershield wrenched the door open so sharply that the dragonborn on the other side, also in full armour, struck at thin air and had to pull back their fist so as not to hit Shattershield himself. They were out of breath, wide-eyed.

“What is it, Sergeant?” he barked.

The sergeant looked straight at Max for a moment, then back to Shattershield, and dropped into fast, clipped Draconic. Max caught words, but nothing clear enough to be a sentence, and suspected that it was business they were not supposed to know anyway. It did not take much information for Shattershield to start, drawing back with a grunt and his hand tightening on the door. He interrupted to say something, sharp words with a raised hand, and the sergeant nodded as Shattershield closed the door again and looked immediately to his robes.

“There is a problem,” he said gruffly, grabbing his robes from their place by the door and hauling them on. “I must go. It is…” he snarled, shaking his head. “I cannot explain, I do not have the time or the permission–”

“Go, go!” said Max. “You don’t need to explain.” They hurried over to him and straightened out a ruck in the side of his robes, where he would not have been able to see it. “I get it.”

He cupped their jaw, then bowed his head to rub his _eshrazani_ across their head one more time. It was something between strange and comforting this time, and Max made a soft sound in their throat as Shattershield drew away, stepped back with something worried and haunted in his eyes, then turned to leave the room.

The door slammed closed behind him, and Max heard fast footsteps in the corridor. Whatever it was, they wished that they could have offered something to help, and hoped that Shattershield and his fellows would be able to face it.

It was gone midnight by the time that Max heard the door open again, and jumped down from their seat on the windowsill to hurry back through to him. Shattershield was still in the doorway, shoulders slumped beneath an invisible weight, head bowed, but there was no immediate sign of injury and that, at least, had Max breathing a sigh of relief.

“Arend?” They said.

He looked up, eyes fixing on them, then closed the door behind him and strode across without a word. Confusion rushed through them, but before they could properly consider whether to ask Shattershield had taken a knee before them, wrapping his arms around them and pulling them to his shoulder to press his jaw so hard against them that is became uncomfortable. His hands curled into their clothes, and he rumbled faintly before falling silent, simply clasping them.

Max bought their arms up about him in return, squeezing tight, and refrained from letting the stab of panic in their chest show. His hold was tighter than usual – well, tighter than it ever was outside of bed, at least – and he still did not say a word, breathing firmly against them.

They swallowed. “Arend? Are you okay?”

He sighed, and his hold slackened a little; Max kept their hold a moment longer, not wanting him to think he had to let go, but he did not do so altogether. “I am sorry,” he said quietly, little more than a murmur. They had to concentrate to hear it clearly over their racing heart. “And it is another of my Order who is... whose safety is not certain. But I cannot fight this for them.”

Ah, an officer's fear for his men. But Max had the sense there was still something more to be said, something which meant Shattershield could not simply trust in the paladin's own skills to see them through. They angled their head to rub against his _eshrazani_ , and he gave a faint grunt of acknowledgment.

All the same, standing here like this could only see them through for so long. “Do you want to sit down?” Said Max. “I'm guessing that you won't be wanting to sleep yet...”

He huffed, humourless. “I could not.” No question in his voice. No waver in him, either, despite having his knee to hard stone. He rumbled, arms tightening again for a moment as he tilted his jaw further into them. “But perhaps I should...” he trailed off. ”I should not feel cold like this.”

He felt as searing hot as ever around them, but Max could certainly appreciate what the chill of fear felt like. “There's blankets,” they said, thinking of the rarely-open chest that sat within his quarters. “Or hot water.”

“You are right,” he said. At least his hand moved, stroking down to rest at the small of their back. “Perhaps a bath would be best.” All the same, he gave a soft sigh before untwining from them, drawing back only to avert his eyes to the ground.

“If you would rather be alone,” said Max hesitantly, “then I can...”

“No,” said Shattershield, before they could even mention excusing themselves to a different room, let alone suggesting that they make use of the Order's guest quarters for once. They had suspected that would be his answer, but felt they had to ask all the same. “I...” he cleared his throat. “If you would rather be elsewhere, then–”

“Oh gods, no,” they said quickly, clasping their hands to his forearms again. “Not unless you wanted some time alone.”

Shattershield kept his gaze turned aside, and honestly that worried them as much of his talk of being cold, after the innumerable times they had caught him looking longer than they would have thought to do. “Then I would ask that you stay,” he said, softly.

Max reached up, pushing onto their tiptoes, to press a soft, chaste kiss to the side of his snout. “Then I'm staying,” they said. They squeezed his forearms. “Come on. At least your Order offers hot water at all hours.”

He chuckled, though there was no humour to it. “That is true. Thank you.” He glanced down at their arms, and seemed reluctant as he let his hands slip free and then stood up with a grunt. It sounded strangely close to effort for him, and tugged again at Max's concern.

Shattershield walked wearily through to the bathroom, lighting lamps as if from habit even if Max probably needed it more than he did. Max set about starting the water instead, then turned to find Shattershield watching them with a lingering, fond gaze that actually reassured them more than anything. Only as he was undressing, though, was Max able to clearly see his hands, cuts and scrapes across them both and some of his claws damaged and sheared. Their heart came into their throat, and they stopped across to scoop up one of his wrists.

“Arend, what happened?” To have not even healed so obvious and so painful an injury, knuckles split and pulling each time he even minutely flexed his claws, worried them as much as it being there in the first place.

”When I tore out the door...” he trailed off as Max looked up at him in confusion. “What healing I could offer was needed elsewhere.”

They took his other hand, just as torn up, and laid their own hands above and below them. Words in Celestial fell from their lips, a ringing request to Deneir, and then silver light sparked across Shattershield's hands as the skin knit back together, scales reforming and smooth shine returning to them. It could not do anything about the state of his claws, but at least must have stopped the stinging pain.

”Thank you,” he said again, still quietly.

Another weary grunt escaped him as he settled into the bath, but some of the tension left his shoulders as the hot water did its work. Max pulled over the stool on which they sometimes sat, settling beside the tub but leaving one arm clasped in Shattershield's, fingers gently stroking his forearm as he sat.

For all their screaming curiosity, the fear surging through them, they knew that Shattershield would not have returned unless there was nothing more he could do to assist, and that if he could not help it was highly doubtful that Max could. “If you wish to talk, or if you wish not to,” they said, carefully, “I understand.”

He huffed. “I am not used to having someone to speak to when...” a shake of his head. “I cannot say events such as these, it has not happened in many years.” He sighed. “You know that most of this Order are born human, and that these forms,” he nodded vaguely towards himself, “are granted by our god.”

That, at least, was relatively well-known outside paladin orders altogether. Dragon D'Or was interesting enough that Max had heard a little of it even before meeting Egbert and Shattershield and had certainly sought out more of its history since. They nodded.

“The details of the rite are... _irthos_. Secret, more than secret. But I can say that we enter a chamber, for a day and a night, and come the end... we either emerge as dragonborn, or as we were. But even those who are not chosen feel the presence of the dragon.”

Another nod. Max continued to brush their fingers over his wrist, feeling the steam curling up from the water past their arm.

Shattershield sighed. “But, once in a generation perhaps, something goes wrong. The last time it happened was over twenty-five years ago. Most of us who were paladins then…” he shook his head. “Were claimed by the war.”

He fell silent, staring down at the surface of the water. Max was not sure whether it would be better to speak or not, but as the silence stretched painfully out between them, Shattershield’s brow furrowed, it became too much. “And it happened again?” they said eventually.

“Mm. Not quite the same this time. This time… she is alive,” he said. It was damning with faint praise, and Max felt the twist in their chest at the knowledge that _alive_ was the best he could say. His uneven claws tightened on Max’s wrist, but it was not the good sort of discomfort, and Max could not hide a wince. As they did so, he glanced down, and released his claws with an even more pained expression. “Sorry, _vethparijan_.”

Max drew Shattershield’s hand over to kiss the knuckles, just a soft press of their lips. “It’s nothing.”

Again, he fell silent, weight tangible on his shoulders and on his brow. Max bit their lip, then made an abrupt decision and stood up. With Shattershield looking confused, they peeled off their shirt and trousers, stripping down to just their underwear in the warm air of the bathroom. The water was stinging hot when they stepped in, and they hissed between their teeth, but as they slid in Shattershield made a sound that was somewhere between disbelief and amusement, holding out his hands with the palms turned upwards.

Max slid down into the water, slipping down between Shattershield’s knees and pressing their hands to his chest. He stroked their shoulder with his knuckles, claws curled away, expression having softened slightly even if the pain was still there.

“She is alive,” he said again. “Anyone who was close to the chamber could feel that something was wrong with it. But the door would not open. Those on patrol felt the magic and called Sergeant Frostpeak, who at least remembers the stories of what happened before. They came to find those of us who do remember.” He paused, then shifted, putting an arm around Max’s back and pulling them closer to him. Max let themselves be drawn into his lap, turning to sit on one of his legs and leaning against his chest as he wrapped around them and nuzzled against their steam-damp hair. “Last time, we did not dare open the chamber. I couldn’t let the same happen again.” Raising one hand from the water, he flexed and straightened them, the scales no longer torn up. “I tore out the door. We didn’t know what would happen, but I thought it was worth the risk.”

No doubt the chamber had significant magic wound into it, and despite the heat Max felt the urge to shiver at the thought of interfering with something so powerful. They were quite sure, though, that Shattershield had done so in order that other paladins did not have to take the risk themselves, did not have to face what might come from it.

“And she’s alive,” Max echoed. They remained still, letting him rub his jaw distractedly against them. “I am guessing that is where you laid on your hands.”

He grunted. “And others, too. I hope it was enough, and in time.”

They could almost hear the other words on the edge of his thoughts, not words of today but not distant enough for him to be able to put them aside. The heat of the water seeped into them, and they felt some of the tension begin to leave Shattershield’s muscles as the rain continued outside, the thunder now distant and muted once again.

“His name was Bram Cinderdane. He underwent the ceremony not long after I did, but it went wrong. That time, they did not open the chamber until the hours were up, and…” he trailed off, and when Max cautiously looked up they could see that he was staring at the surface of the water, clearly seeing something else altogether. “We never knew exactly what happened, but I will never forget what he looked like. Even the war could not erase it.”

He had spoken, not quite casually but not all that far away from it, about helping to reattach another paladin’s arm during that war. No doubt it was worse to see it happen to a friend and contemporary, as the result of a ceremony meant to be a time of celebration and taking on a new form.

With the words said, though, a little more fraught tension seemed to leave his frame, and he seemed to melt down around Max. His arms draped around them, jaw resting against their hair again, and in other circumstances it might have been a peaceful way to sit. Hopefully the memory of it would not be too stained by this, were Max to try it again.

After a while, Shattershield shifted with a pained grunt, and Max slid out of his winding hold again to look him over. “Any better?” they said.

“Mm. A little, thank you, though sore. I am sorry that you were witness to all of this.” He went as if to brush a hand through their hair, then caught himself with dripping claws and dropped his touch back to their jaw instead. “This is not exactly what I intended for your visit.”

They kissed his hand lightly as it passed the corner of their mouth. “I came to spend time with you, Arend. Whatever that time may be.” Not just in his bed, they considered saying, but perhaps that was a little too… on-point. But they enjoyed their time in the citadel, or the city, and while they were certainly not _enjoying_ this night they were still glad that they were there with him. “As long as you are happy for me to be here.”

“That, I certainly am.”

“And as for the soreness,” said Max, “I think that has to do with taking it upon yourself to rip a door from a wall. A stone one?” they added. It was technically only an educated guess, but they had not yet seen any walls around the citadel that were _not_ stone. Sure enough, Shattershield sighed and nodded. “Mmm. I’m not sure even dragonborn were made for that.”

They reached for the soap on the shelf behind the bathtub, above their eyeline though convenient for dragonborn. The bar that they grabbed felt more squared-off than usual, newer, but as they pulled it down Shattershield glanced across and shook his head.

“Oh, one moment. It occurred to me this month that I only had the soap meant for dragonborn. I apologise. It is not as strong as that meant for human or similar members.”

Honestly, Max had just assumed that the water in Mistmire was harder than elsewhere, but they supposed that it made sense. Shattershield reached up, and produced a second bar, which even in the dim light was visibly greener than the orange-hued one in Max’s hand.

“This is the one for humans,” he said.

It would not have crossed Max’s mind that they would need different soaps, and they were touched that Shattershield had thought of it at all. At least there _were_ human members of the Order as well. They smiled, but gestured with the one they already held. “I’m not the one looking a bit dusty from their – victorious – battle with a wall,” they said. “But thank you, for when it does come to me.”

Shattershield grumbled something to himself, sounding vaguely embarrassed, as Max lathered up their hands and began to work it across his arms. From their peripheral vision, Max saw his expression soften as he led Max handle his arm and turn over his hand.

“Back in my room,” he said, after a moment, “I have had a key made for you. So that we do not have to keep handing one back and forth.”

Max froze for a moment, feeling that same lurch as missing a step while running, and swallowed before they managed to look up to Shattershield again. “A key to your rooms?”

What other key they thought it could be, they had no idea, but it still seemed… larger, again, than Shattershield’s calm tone of voice would have it be. Perhaps it was that Max’s job had kept them moving which meant that there had not before been anyone serious enough for anything like this. But they were not wholly sure how a conversation like this was supposed to happen, even if they had a feeling that in a bath was not the most usual of places for it.

Shattershield nodded, and for a moment his calm expression flickered and Max realised that he was not exactly sure of what he was doing either. That… made it a little easier, somehow.

They reached up to push back their hair out of habit, even though it was short enough to not really need it now. “Sorry. I’ve never had someone do that before.”

“Well, I know that last month you had to wait until I finished my watch to get in,” he said. His voice was tending back towards the gruffness of when they had first met him, body language closing off again, and Max cringed inside the privacy of their own thoughts. “If you would rather not carry it then–”

They tried to put the soap on the edge of the tub, dropped it into the water instead, and gave up on it to cup Shattershield’s jaw. “Arend. I’m sorry, I don’t know what I’m doing right now. What to say. I was touched by the _soap_ , never mind…” having a key to his quarters. The words would not come, for a moment, and they glanced down at his chest and back up again to steel themselves. “Never mind a key.”

“I have no idea how to have this conversation either,” Shattershield muttered.

A cough of relieved laughter escaped them, and Max shook their head and rested their forehead against Shattershield’s snout. They closed their eyes for a moment, feeling tired in more than hours awake, and having no doubt that Shattershield would had been exhausted by what he had both seen and done.

“We can try it again in the morning, if you wish,” suggested Max. They groped blindly for the soap beneath the dark water, and Shattershield cocked his head to regard them for a second before visibly realising and reaching to feel around for the soap as well. There was a ridiculous few seconds before Max managed to find the soap and present it victoriously above the water again.

“Perhaps that would be better,” Shattershield said. “Though I feel I have already made rather a mess of it.”

Max rubbed their forehead with the back of their hand as another, sheepish memory surfaced. “Oh, gods. When I picked up that spare portion of food for you the other day,” they said, and Shattershield nodded. “I didn’t say it was for you. Just asked for another portion to take away. But the server still asked me to wish you well.”

Shattershield groaned, leaning his elbow on the side of the bathtub and shaking his head. “The gossip in this place is quite something, but I would have thought there would be _some_ discretion. I… apologise if it made you uncomfortable.”

“It’s your order,” said Max again, simply. They shrugged. Even with another month to have thought on the matter, they were not entirely sure how to feel about the fact that many of Shattershield’s order seemed to know, and seemed… happy about it, if anything. “I guess…” they rested their hand on his chest. “Yeah. I’m okay with them knowing. I don’t think I’d want to hide, or want to hide you.”

He stroked a hand down their back, with a rumble deep in his chest. “ _Vethparijan_ , I… it has been all I can manage to not flaunt you.” Max felt themselves blushing in a way that had nothing at all to do with the heat of the water, and had to look down at his chest again for a moment. It was his knuckles, rather than his claws, brushing their skin. “But I did not want to rush you.”

They could remember his sheepish agreement when they planned to head back to Suzette’s base instead of returning to Mistmire with him, and smiled even if they were still blushing too hard to look back up. “I think we started off rushing a little,” they said. “It’s only fair.”

Once again, Shattershield nosed against the crook of their neck, then nipped gently, just once, at the skin. “But that does not mean it cannot at least wait until morning. We should both get some sleep.”

Max had no doubt that he needed it. They pressed one more lingering kiss to his shoulder, and wondered just when it had become so comfortable to be so fully twined into his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because of the structure of this fic, I don't actually have time to address it, but: yes, the paladin from the rite-gone-wrong survives, although probably with some lingering physical weirdness because of a transformation that did not properly take. I drafted and then discarded some rather more gory descriptions of what happened to the one that went wrong a generation ago, but it didn't feel appropriate to the tone of the piece or for Shattershield to be so, uh, gruesome.
> 
>  _Irthos_ is a canonical Draconic word for "secret", either as a noun or as an adjective.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote half of chapter three, then wrote this, then went back to finish chapter three... also, this chapter is back to smut.

The sun was warm, Shattershield did not have a watch that day and thus had nowhere to be, and the chair which he had bought at some point during the previous month had, indeed, turned out to be large enough for both of them to curl into. Better, it had some actual back support, was better designed for long stretches sitting down than the bed, and so far at least had a _marginally_ better record for them being able to complete a conversation without knocking things to the floor as they all but inevitably wound back around each other. Shattershield had been vague and flustered about exactly where he had purchased it, and Max had not been able to bring themselves to tease him when it still made them feel slightly breathless that he had gone out of his way to add such a piece of furniture to quarters which had clearly spent years being _for one_.

They heard Shattershield follow them through to his office from the bedroom, probably to pick up something or other as much as they were returning a book to his desk. But their thoughts were already more than half back _in_ the bedroom when Shattershield stepped up behind them and put down his hands as if to catch them between.

Without thinking, Max dodged from his grasp, turning to face him as they stepped sideways along the desk. Shattershield looked so surprised that a snort of laughter escaped them.

“I think you might need to be faster to catch me,” they said.

He grunted. “Is that so?”

To be fair to Shattershield, for his height and the strength he needed to spend his days in full plate, he could still be quite fast when out of it. He lunged for Max’s new position, and it was not entirely easy to dodge his hands again and make it around the corner of the desk, still facing him across it.

He feinted, and they went to dart away until they caught his shift back in the other direction and held still instead, hands against the wood. Their smile almost ached in their cheeks, threatening to spill over into giggling as Shattershield regarded them with the focus of a hunter while not even wearing a shirt. Step by step, they sidled around to the far side of the desk from him, his gaze following and the ghosts of tension still in his stance.

“Looks like.”

“Hmm. Or maybe I am waiting you out, and you are trapped,” he said, with only a tease of a smile but with a roughness that Max well recognised in his voice. Their pulse quickened, excitement curling down their spine.

They feinted towards the bedroom door, but as he moved in that direction kicked back the other way, laughing as they made it beyond his reach to dart around the end of the desk and freely into the room. Shattershield whirled, made another grab for their trailing arm but missed, but then stepped quickly to block their route around to the bedroom door.

Which was, to be entirely fair, where Max suspected this chase was going to end. Max tried to dart past him, only for Shattershield’s hand to wrap around their wrist; they twisted their arm over and sharply pushed it further into his hand, breaking his hold to a grunt of his surprise. With a muted growl, Shattershield made another lunge, and this time Max made it only partway through the doorway before the inexorable grasp of an arm around the waist caught at them. They laughed, trying to squirm sideways still, even as Shattershield began chuckling as well and followed.

He leaned in the doorway, one arm against the frame and the other one around Max’s ribs and pinning them up against the wall. “Do I win?” he said, voice low. “Or did you let yourself get caught?”

Max ran a hand up his chest in response, tracing up the lines of his muscles with their fingertips and then down with their nails. They felt more than heard the deep juddering growl in his chest, and as he leant in closer they reached across to kiss his scales again. Their tongue dragged over him even as they felt the sway of his breathing, his hand pushing up their shirt to trace claws over their hip and along the line of their trousers.

His snout brushed against their hair, but Max was too busy nipping at Shattershield’s chest to pay much attention to anything other than the rumbling of his breath and the hot rough touch of his hands against their stomach and their sides.

They did feel it, though, as he undid their belt, and made a murmuring sound against his scales before drawing back to look up at him. It was not even midday, the sun not yet having tracked round to the windows of Shattershield’s quarters, but it was still bright enough for there to be a shadow to his presence, one that only seemed to deepen the intensity in his gaze.

“Undressing before we even reach the bed, captain?”

The title slipped out without their meaning to, and Max went to apologise but was interrupted as Shattershield pushed them back more firmly against the wall and nosed against them to gently bite their throat. It turned their thoughts into a gasp as he followed it with his tongue, and it was only as they felt him pushing down against their trousers that they thought to arch their hips away from the wall to make it easier. Shattershield gave an appreciative-sounding growl as their clothes slipped away, before dragging his claws across their thigh and prompting a whine in their throat.

“Something like that,” he replied. Max stepped out of their trousers altogether, leaving the fabric pooled on the floor, head still thrown back as Shattershield nibbled along the line of their throat. “But I did have another idea.”

“Oh?” said Max. As Shattershield drew back from their neck and lifted their shirt, they conceded and pulled it off. Their skin was tingling with the heat beneath, and they set about creeping their hand around the back of his neck as they slid the other towards his belt. “And what–”

They cut off with a yelp as Shattershield lifted them up, one hand to each thigh, only to scoop their legs up around his waist. There was an awkward lurching moment, and then Max felt Shattershield’s hands holding them up, their back against the smooth stone wall of his quarters, their arms having wound automatically around his neck somewhere in the movement. With a grunt, Shattershield adjusted them and his hold on them, and if Max hadn’t been yearning for his touch before they sure as hell were afterwards.

“That’s… that’s an idea,” they said, breathlessly, not able to think of much more. They adjusted their hold on his shoulders to something less of a grip of desperation, one arm firmly in place to let the other trace his scales again. “How long were you thinking of that?”

“The thought occurred with you standing there,” said Shattershield. One of his hands dragged down the delicate underside of their thigh, and Max shivered. “You know,” his breath caught as Max squirmed against him, running their hand down to undo his belt and slip beneath to rub against his skin. “I _was_ intending to catch you at the desk, but…”

At his muted snarl, Max’s hand dipped lower to find the head of his cock. In all honesty, they had barely needed to touch him at all, and they pulled open the laces on his clothes to loosen them enough to free him.

“I like this idea more,” said Max. They kissed the side of Shattershield’s jaw, letting their tongue brush against his scales. The heat of his cock in their hand only made their body yearn harder to claim him. “Definitely this idea.”

Gods, just a few visits ago they had still not been sure to feel about him being able to pick them up; now he had them lifted against the wall, thighs around him, all their weight in his hands. They kissed the line of his mouth again, nipped at the scales of the boundary, hand working eagerly at the length of his cock until their fingers brushed against the thickened base. The rush of trust wound into the pounding arousal in them, tightened into a moan as Shattershield moved his hips and moved _them_ at the same time, one careful slow thrust that left Max able to feel everything, every ridge and pearl-like bump of his cock sliding into place until their hips were flush. Shattershield’s trousers brushed the back of their thighs, the warmth of his body almost sharp against the cold of the wall.

Shattershield growled something in Draconic, shifted his weight once more, and then Max found themselves pinned between his arms and the wall as he began to rock his hips against them. With a moan, Max drew their hand back up to rub and to knead at the sensitive base of his stomach.

Even now, Shattershield still spoke in Draconic when it came to sexual matters. It emphasised the growls and hisses of his voice, and though Max could still only catch stray words besides their name, they knew that the word _good_ was among them, the repeated _you_ and _I_ which reverberated in Max’s bones even if they did not quite know all of the words between.

Max gasped his name in return, arched their back, then cursed as their skin slipped against the wall and Shattershield clutched them to the stone to keep them in place. They swallowed, breathless, skin still ablaze.

“I, ah,” they said, then licked their lips. They looked at their legs arrayed in his arms, the angle at which he held them, and tried not to get too hotly drawn into the sight of their bodies joined, their skin to his golden scales. A couple of breaths, and they could think clearly enough to reach with their free hand and tap at one of his arms. “This might sound odd. But I think if you, uh,” it really was difficult to speak clearly with him sheathed to the hilt inside them, the working of their muscles enough to make each breath around him like its own sensation. “If you put this arm under my knee. It might be easier.”

At least, that felt sort of… like it would work. Max could not honestly say that they had thought about something like this before, let alone done it, and there was a strange edge to being held in place as they were. Of knowing their self of a year ago would be shocked by even one part of this situation.

With a rumble, Shattershield glanced at their bodies as well, then grunted and slipped his arm beneath the crook of their knee as they had gestured. Another whine escaped Max’s throat as the angle of their hips to Shattershield’s body changed, the feel of his cock inside them changing with it.

But sure enough, Shattershield’s support beneath their knee made it easier to trust his strength to hold them, to lose themselves in the feel of his body as he thrust, slow and steady, into them again. Max gasped, tightened their arm around his shoulders, and rocked with Shattershield as he growled against their hair and the wall. Each stroke of his cock sent a shivering, rippling wave of sensation through them, curving streaks of pleasure that had them gasping his name, hands greedy on his skin, riding a knife’s edge of pleasure that was almost too much, and not enough, both at the same time. Even as he filled them, they ached for his touch, shivering with anticipation even in the hot braced hold of his arms.

From this angle, there was not so much movement of his hips, thrusts from deep to deeper inside them. They could never get used to the way that the ridges of him felt, the pattern of his cock inside them on each steady thrust seeming to pulse through them. They dragged the nails of their free hand down his chest, biting down on his shoulder to muffle their desperate sounds.

“Damn it, Max,” Shattershield snarled, claws tightening on their thighs. They felt, gods, it was not _helpless_ in the way that some positions made them feel, but frustratedly unable to act upon him, restrained in his hold.

The unfaltering rhythm of his hips drew moans from their lips, thighs sweetly almost aching as they flexed against his hip and the hard muscle of his arm. It was like wave on wave of fire inside them, devouring them with _want_ , as they gasped Shattershield’s name against his scales and finally, with a sound that was almost a whimper, surrendered to his hold.

The smooth wall against their back grew warmer, but Shattershield did not grow less searing against them, claws digging into the underside of their thigh. Each thrust was a flurry of sensation, another wave higher than the last, and Max closed their eyes and tightened their hold on his shoulders, all but clinging to him as pleasure writhed and built, built, built within them.

The growing tension in Shattershield’s body, the change in the timbre of his growls, were fast becoming as familiar as the tightening in their own body as he neared climax. But they were still frustratingly distant from it themselves, flushes of arousal running through them, sweat on their neck and muscles of their thighs starting to ache from being around him.

“Gods, Arend.” Even without the exhilarating abandon of helplessness, it was a different thrill, revelling in the coiled power of him as he braced them easily against the wall. “I think…” they gasped, sharply, at another thrust that struck at just the angle to almost break their thoughts. “I think my hand might – _mmmh_ – be of assistance.”

He slowed his movement, and Max gritted their teeth as a frustrated groan drew itself up from their gut. “If you would move to the bed, I–”

“Don’t you dare stop,” they said, the words coming out sharper and more desperate than they meant them to. Shattershield half-snarled, and Max went to speak again, just to _tell_ him before they slipped their free hand to their own clit, but his arm beneath their leg tightened and his thrusts turned from firm to hard, the rhythmic sound of their bodies pulsing in Max’s ears beyond their own panting breath and the rushing of their blood. “Oh _gods_.”

A choking sound of relief fell from their lips as they brought their hand to their clit. Max let their head fall back but bit their lip, fighting the urge to cry out as pleasure curled together in them tight and fast and crashed in waves that pushed them towards a peak. Sounds escaped from them all the same, muffled moans that they hoped were not too loud still, and Shattershield’s claws dug into their skin as he drove them on, into the first waves of climax, higher, lights behind their eyelids as they came apart around him to the rhythm of his thrusts.

They cried out, then realised it and pressed their hand over their mouth, bowing their head as they let the last shudders run through them. When they trusted themselves to speak without more than a gasp of noise, they dropped their hand again, reaching for Shattershield once more as the sensitivity of their skin turned to a shivering ache, sharper and sweeter even than his claws. They reached up above where they could see, running their hand to his _eshrazani_ , heel of their hand against them in a gesture as akin to his firm rubbing gestures as they could reach to do.

He leaned into their hand, and they tightened their thighs around him. From his tension, they could feel that he was holding himself back, out of pride or for their sake or for who even knew what reason. Sometimes they could bear it, but in this position it was too much, and it if was meant to be for their sake then, gods, it did not need to be. Max swallowed. “Arend. A- _Arend_.” He growled in reply, and Max summoned what Draconic they could even think of in the moment. “ _Arvargus_.”

Shattershield’s breath caught, claws tightening further as he pressed Max to the wall, buried so deep inside them that they could feel the thickening of the base of his cock, feel him pressed and held tight within them. Then the faint rush of heat, Shattershield’s rough huffed breathing against the side of their head, his arms tensing around them.

He stood there panting for a moment, then shook his head minutely. “Damn it, Max. You will ruin my own language for me.”

“Now you know how I feel,” said Max, still breathless. The only place they heard Draconic was in Mistmire, and most of _that_ was in Shattershield’s bed. Or, well, Shattershield’s quarters at least. Even when the other members of Dragon D’Or used the language, it was usually only a word or two, and even after months Max could not break its sexual associations. Shattershield grunted for a reply, and nuzzled against their hair as Max shifted against him. “Mmm, I might need you to put me down. My legs are starting to cramp.”

Another grunt, this one more questioning, and then Shattershield shifted to look down at the tangled array of their limbs. “Ah, yes.” He carefully shifted Max’s weight in his arms to unhook their leg, letting them stretch right down to pointed toes before adjusting again to let them lower both legs towards the ground.

Max slipped down to the stone floor, careful not to tread on their own clothes and risk losing their footing. Shattershield shifted back, giving them more room even as they leaned back against the wall, still feeling slightly shaky about the knees. He rested his hands on their waist, bowing his head to rub against their temple, and Max stroked his arms as they gathered their breath, heat still pulsing through them.

They had just… oh _gods_. The idea of having sex with Shattershield on the desk had been enough to twist in their stomach, though to be fair the thought of _any_ chance to twine around him was enough to be a rush. To think that he had simply _picked them up_ , had so easily held them to the wall to, frankly, ravish them… and now was making that purr-like sound as he rubbed his jaw against the top of their head, hands gently roaming across their skin. When they had just been…

A laugh burst from their lips. They tried to swallow it back again, only for Shattershield to give a confused huff against their hair and for _that_ to just underline the absurdity that was washing over them in the soft, warm wake of climax. Laughter swelled in them again, and though they did their best to restrain themselves they wound up laughing, softly, against him.

“Is everything alright?” said Shattershield, frown more evident in his voice than usual.

Max squeezed the muscles of his arms. “That actually just happened,” they said, another giggle breaking through. “You actually just… oh gods.”

He half-growled. “ _You_ are surprised?” he said, after a moment. Max looked up at him, shaking their hair from their eyes, only to see him grumble to himself and glance aside. “Frankly, where I got that idea from I cannot…”

The incredulity in his voice made Max laugh again, leaning over to kiss his chest. “Well… I’m glad that you did,” they said.

One hand rose to their hair, brushing gently through curls. “Hmm. Apparently having… seen you on the bed,” his thumb brushed their temple, “and seen you on the desk, and now having seen you against the wall…”

Max gathered the meaning in his words, and felt themselves blushing at the implication as Shattershield nosed against their hair again, stroking their side. The idea of being wanted was not that strange, but the growling undertone of Shattershield’s voice, the on-running desire that it implied… well, they supposed it was not all that different from the way that a stray look, a stray brush of his hand, could kindle the fire in their spine again.

“I’m not sure I can avoid walls in future,” they said. They pressed one more kiss to his scales, this time following it with a nip of their teeth. “Even if I wanted to.”

He grumbled something that may or may not have included the Draconic word for _good_ , too lost deep in his chest to be clear.

“I think you’d better get on the bed, though,” said Max. “I’m not done with you yet.”

They were expecting another growl; they were not expecting Shattershield to put an arm around them and lift them up again, pressing them to the hard muscles of his chest. For a moment they almost thought that he might put them back to the wall again, but were not disappointed when he turned them instead towards the bed, running his tongue along their collarbone then nipping at their shoulders.

“ _Thur_ _ya,_ _wux_ ,” he rumbled.

They yearned to get their hands on him properly; both hands, and not caught in the tight angle between his body and the wall. It was like they were on fire from being held back, wanting to _claim_ him more than ever. Even digging in their nails left no mark on him, and their teeth were no match for the strength of his hide; no matter how rough they became, they had barely left a bruise on him, and even then he had needed to point it out before they could see it.

They tightened their hands on him, let him bear them back across to the bed, and wondered how the wall could have caused them so much less difficulty than Shattershield’s desk had done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Vargus" is Draconic for 'Captain', and "Arvargus" is 'my captain'. 
> 
> (Or, I came across the dangerous knowledge of how to create possessives in Draconic.)


	5. Chapter 5

Max was not actually sure whether the water that Dragon D’Or piped down was less hot as the summer months started to roll in, or whether they were just getting more used to it. In either case, Shattershield did not look at all surprised as they joined him in the tub and the water again, starting off actually bathing as well but ending up straddling his lap, pressing kisses to his throat, the feel of his scales against their skin strange beneath the water and making the hair on the back of their neck stand on end despite the heat. He rumbled as they bit down on his collarbone, one hand on their thigh and the other teasing with claws at their nipple, ghostly touches just at the waterline that tremored through them.

“I’m not sure that being in this room is accomplishing anything at this point,” said Shattershield, and Max snorted with laughter where they had meant to run their tongue over his scales. He rubbed his _eshrazani_ against them. “Might I suggest a relocation?”

“Very polite,” Max teased, sitting up and back in his lap. “You could have just relocated me yourself.”

“Mmm, and ended up with water everywhere,” said Shattershield. Max considered protesting that they would not deliberately be splashing water about the place, but they had to admit that if startled, it could have led to something of a mess which, stone floor or no, would take cleaning up. He reached up to run his thumb over their lower lip, skimming it down over their chin before they could close their lips around it. “So will you be so kind as to release me, or would you rather keep me trapped here?”

The heat was pleasant, and the thought of keeping Shattershield pinned in place far more so, but there were other places that they could accomplish that which were not chest-deep in water. Max pretended to consider for a moment, putting a soft sound into a sigh, then leaned forwards and pressed one more closed-mouth kiss to Shattershield’s chest before standing up and letting the water begin to drip from them.

They grabbed a towel for themselves and passed one to Shattershield, the sheets of linen large enough for dragonborn and more than Max could require. The afternoon sun was just starting to make it far enough around the windows to directly light up Shattershield’s quarters, setting him glowing gold again in a way that Max could have spent hours admiring. Their eyes trailed down his back as he exited the water, watching the sway of his muscles, until he turned around and gave them an intent look which made it quite clear that he had caught them staring.

Clearing their throat, Max turned back again and started to towel their hair, but Shattershield chuckled all the same. It would hardly have worked to glare at him from beneath the towel and wet curls, so Max stuck to trying to maintain some sort of dignity until the water was out of their ears and their hair was probably about as good as it was going to get for the time being.

Shattershield had paused, frowning and regarding the back of one elbow, and Max slowly lowered the towel from their hair as they looked over to him. “Everything okay?”

“Scales a little dry,” he said. “You must excuse me if I oil them.”

He had referred to oil once or twice over the past months, but only in passing, and Max’s curiosity was piqued afresh by the reference to it. “That’s fine,” they said, mildly and doing their best not to make their interest too obvious. They did peer round, though, as Shattershield crossed to the shelves in the bathroom and uncorked a bottle of oil, wetting his fingers with it before beginning to rub it into his elbow.

There was… temptation in the sight. Max walked slowly over beside Shattershield, then reached up to put their hand over his where it worked. Either they were quiet, or he was absorbed, as he looked up sharply at their touch with surprise flashing in his features.

“Is this a healing oil?” they asked, running fingers over his elbow where it came invitingly close to eye-height on them. He looked between their touch and their face, making a sound somewhere between clearing his throat and coughing, and Max bit their lip in fond amusement.

“No,” he managed, after a moment. It probably wasn’t _helping_ that Max was tracing patterns on the lightly-oiled scales, but he certainly didn’t seem to be complaining about it. “I know that humans and similar use creams, but those are not suitable for scales. Plain oils work better. The drying is usually worse in the winter, even in Mistmire, but it still occasionally happens.”

“Worse in winter?” Max looked up. “I’ve not seen you do this before.”

Another flustered huff, of the sort that they had not heard from him since their previous visit when they had been asking about the seat. “I was avoiding – well,” he said, gruff again. Max stilled their hand against his arm and cocked their head, suppressing their smile in case it made him feel too teased. “The one which I used to use was, hmm, somewhat bitter in smell, and I presume in taste as well,” he added, the last words coming out just _slightly_ mumbled. Max felt another one of those uncertain rushes of warmth, tight in their chest and twisting in their gut, at the sound of another thing he had changed on their count. “This one is just about as effective.”

Max bit their lip, then traced their nails across his skin. “Do you want some help with it? If there’s anywhere… harder to reach, I mean,” they added. They hungered to try it, to trace him, his hide warm and rough against their palm as they held his gaze until he rumbled deep in his chest and passed them the bottle.

They cinched the towel about themselves, tucking it into itself beneath their arm so that it would stay in place and give them both hands free. Max coated their own fingers in oil, aware in every second of the sliding feel of it on their skin, the slip of their fingers over each other, and the way that Shattershield was watching them with burning eyes and quickened breath.

There was a slight sheen where he had already been applying the oil, and Max followed it again, rubbing circles with their fingertips that glided against the pattern of his scales. The oil made the touch slick and easy, and Max could not help calling to mind another slick touch against him, the way that the feeling of his fingers against them changed as he coaxed pleasure from them.

His biceps twitched as Max’s touch drifted upwards, over the powerful muscle there to brush against the fine patterns of his inner arm. When Max’s forearm brushed past his, they felt the softness of the oil against the skin there as well, and for a moment looked up to meet Shattershield’s eyes. Heat was swelling in their chest, threatening to flood them already.

“Where else?” they said softly.

“It is good for anywhere, really,” he said. They could see as he swallowed. “I trust your tactical mind on this.”

Max felt heat rush to their cheeks at the rough edge in his voice, the ringing sincerity. They poured more oil into their hand, movement a little sloppy in their haste, and put it to his chest where it began to trickle down him in fine rivulets. A sweep of their hand smeared it across his muscles, only just visible where it caught the light but growing warm just from the touch of his skin until Max could feel the heat even more strongly against their hands. For a moment they did not dare look up to meet his eyes, could only keep their gaze forwards as they brought their hand across the base of his pectorals and his breath hitched against their touch.

The oil tickled on the back of their hand as they let their fingertips follow the edges of his muscles, making sure that every dip of his skin was coated. Then up the centre of his chest, almost to the hollow of his collarbone, and Max realised that they were breathing faster as they looked up and caught Shattershield’s gaze again.

“I might need you to sit down,” they said, palm pressed flat against his chest and desire between their thighs. “Otherwise there’s some parts of you I can’t reach.”

To be fair, there was plenty that they _could_ , and already places that they itched to place their palms to. But they wanted his shoulders, his neck, the fine-grained scales of his _eshrazani_ which they suspected would particularly benefit. They saw the glint of light from a drip working its way down his stomach, and caught it with a quick sweep of their thumb to smear against the skin.

“I – yes, that would be wise,” said Shattershield. He stepped back, reluctant though Max was to let their hand leave his scales, and nodded back through to the bedroom again. With a breath to try to compose themselves, Max followed him through, air feeling cool against their shoulders and arms as the last beads of water there evaporated from their skin. Shattershield crossed to a chair by the wall and put a hand on it, going as if to sit down, then lifted the chair instead and put it in one of the streams of sunlight cutting in from the window.

There was an absurd normality about the towel wrapped around his waist, a layer Max wanted to peel from him even if they knew that pretty much all that it hid was more scales. Perhaps it was left over from being human, or perhaps it was just a politeness observed among Dragon D’Or. But as he sat down, it still parted over his knee, and Max found their eye drawn to the glimpse of his thigh beneath that it offered.

Gods, it was ridiculous what he could do to them.

They stood between his knees as he sat, handing the bottle of oil back to him so that they could coat both of their palms to run over his shoulders in unison. His free hand came up to the small of their back, feather-light through the linen, as another faint rumble ran through him. Again, Max had to focus on the movements of their hands on his shoulders so that they did not lose themselves in his gaze, a weight like gravity pulling them in towards him as they stood aware of him watching their expression, almost eye-to-eye where he sat.

His muscles were hard beneath their hands, and without thinking they found themselves massaging as rubbing in the oil, kneading at the tense lines of his shoulders. Shattershield rocked up slightly into their touch, low sounds in his throat as Max swapped both of their hands to one side and he turned his head to give them better access. Their oiled hands slid against his skin, not enough to stop their grip altogether but enough to make them focus, make them concentrate on the feel of him beneath their hands and the sensation of the warm oil on their fingers.

They caught a tight knot in his muscle, and worked into it, until Shattershield grunted and flexed his claws against their back but rolled his shoulder into their touch. No doubt there was plenty more of his back that would have benefited from the same treatment, but as the oil began to thin Max reached back for more and began to work his other shoulder instead.

As they leant closer, Shattershield nosed against the base of their neck, just beneath the ear and in front of where they could feel their wet hair sticking to them. The tip of his tongue traced their skin, an achingly delicate line, and they bit their lip as one of their hands slid back down to his chest again.

Oh dear. This was very much going to their head – and to elsewhere, for that matter – and they had only been across his arms and shoulders. They smoothed the oil across his throat as he grazed his teeth over their skin, and shivered down to their core at the feel of the pattern and ripple of the scales beneath their fingertips. Shattershield tilted his head again, and they weren’t even sure whether it was at the testing stroke of their hand or to angle his mouth to their neck and nip his way up along it.

A muted whine escaped them as their fingers reached his _eshrazani_ and raked through, leaving a thin sheen of oil across them. Shattershield shifted, his knee brushing against Max’s thigh, and nuzzled against them with his breath warm and soft on their skin.

Even his hand inching down to cup their ass was, frankly, nowhere near enough. Max took the oil from Shattershield’s hand again, but before he could do much more than make a questioning sound reached up with the other hand and pulled their towel loose to drop it to the floor.

Shattershield’s eyes went wide, drawn downwards apparently before he could stop himself and snap them back up again, as a snorted cough escaped him.

“Are you trying to startle me into setting fire to my quarters?” he said gruffly.

Max leaned in to kiss the side of his mouth, then drew back and held his gaze, heat making them bold again. “I’d rather have something under my knees,” they murmured, and as he fell to another spluttering sound smiled and slipped down, hand on his thigh more for the feel of him than for balance, until they were kneeling on the damp linen.

It put his thighs not fair below the level of their shoulders, easier to run their slick palms along, but more to the point put them level with his stomach. There was no moment of realisation from Shattershield, Max’s intentions already more than clear even as they leaned in to kiss his scales, running their lips over the muscles of his abdomen. Sure enough, they caught a hint of the oil that had been brushed there earlier, and sucked a harder kiss to his skin before drawing back far enough to look up at him.

“You’re right,” they said. “This one doesn’t taste bitter at all.”

From the expression on Shattershield’s face, he had not recovered his ability to speak from the last of their comments, and though he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times he did not manage to do so now either. Max held his gaze for as long as they could as they leant back to his stomach again, but it was Shattershield who broke and glanced away first with a rough gasp of breath before Max’s lips were even on him again.

They set the bottle down beneath his chair, pressing the cork back in but hoping still that it would not get knocked over, and ran their hand up his thigh beneath the towel. With their other hand they took hold of his hip, thumb teasing the line between scales and linen with the suspicion that it would feel like far more of a barrier than it actually was. From the hitch in Shattershield’s breath and the way that he mumbled their name, they were right.

They kissed down his stomach, biting at the scales as their oiled hand ran squeezed his thigh. One of his hands curled into a fist against his leg, and as they sucked against his skin Max reached to guide the other one over to thread into their hair, raking warmly through their curls. They knew Shattershield far better than to think he would try to steer them by it, even as they felt the tease of his nails against their scalp.

“ _Max_ ,” he said through gritted teeth, as their hand reached the crease of his thigh and their mouth found just where Max had been searching for. Only the angle, as he sat, had made it different to find.

They did not pause in what they were doing, mouth against his stomach, hand now circling round to search out the seam of his scales. “Mm-hmm?”

Shattershield huffed. “Of _course_ you know what you are doing.”

It was hard not to laugh altogether, but they settled for chuckling against him as they traced a wet touch back and forth along him and bit at his skin, other hand tracing more insistently along the line of the towel until it must have been growing sensitive by awareness alone. They murmured against him, moaned softly as he shifted in his seat with hand moving in their hair. Arousal was rippling through them, fuelled by the feel of their hands and mouth against him, his rough breathing and the twitches of his muscles as he resisted the urge to move further, the sharp hiss of breath as their fingers found the head of his cock.

With a soft sound of triumph, Max undid the towel altogether, pushing it back and letting their mouth move those extra few inches to his cock. Shattershield growled as they wrapped their lips around him, tongue moving in firm short strokes as their hand swept the forthcoming length of him. The oil was perhaps not quite _so_ noticeable there, but they could still feel it between their fingers as he reached his full length and they trailed their mouth down him.

The muscles of Shattershield’s thighs tensed as Max ran their tongue across the base of his cock. Even on their lips, they could feel the ripples of him, firm pearled patterns that they traced with their tongue as they stroked with thumb and finger at the head. They could hear that Shattershield was working to hold back the growls in his throat, deep burring sounds as Max mouthed back up the length of him to take him fully into their mouth again.

It was so familiar now, the taste of him, the feel against their tongue and the weight of his shaft in their hand. They were not sure whether it _still_ sent a thrill down their spine, or whether it was an all-new thrill from the familiarity itself. With their other hand, they trailed through the oil on his chest to leave their fingers slick before pressing them back to the seam of his scales again.

Shattershield hissed their name through his teeth as they sucked on the head of his cock. One of their hands kept a steady rhythm against him, the other teasing fingers at his seam then slipping between to tease at the delicate wet skin there.

Their touch had been tentative, the first time they had tried it, careful even with their short nails and slow movements. Shattershield had said even then that he had never had someone try it before. Though dragonborn did not seem to have that same _particular_ place within them that humans or similar peoples did, the pressure could still intensify things, could still draw growls from his chest. As now it did; Shattershield put his hand to his knee as he bent over, looming above them and breathing fast, claws still gentle on their scalp as their tongue undid him.

Most likely, they had not yet found between them all of what Max’s fingers could do from the inside. But even just with careful movements, rubbing circles that drew guttural sounds from Shattershield’s throat, Max felt his breathing shudder even before they returned to making wordless, hummed sounds about his cock.

With a choked growl and the briefest tightening of his claws against their scalp – drawn back just as fast – Shattershield’s hips bucked and his cock jerked in their hand. Max released his shaft for as brief a moment as they could to tap twice against his thigh before returning their grip to him in firm strokes, drawing their mouth back just far enough to flick their tongue at the point just below the head.

Shattershield came with words of Draconic on his tongue, an explosive breathless huff of words that stood in, in Mistmire, for the sounds Max had been able to draw from him in that snowbound cavern. The hot rush against the roof of their mouth was nothing compared to the feel of his thighs shaking, hips juddering, muscles that Max could not even name flexing and shifting against their fingers. His breath petered off into a low, strained growl as they eased their hand along him just a few more times, then as he fell to panting and the tension left him they gently drew their touch back, swallowed, and moved to softly kiss the base of his stomach once again.

It was still enough to prompt another groan, almost a sound of discomfort and enough to make Max stop and look up once again. Shattershield’s head was bowed, turned slightly to the side as he slowly drew his breath back to normal, and he seemed to realise that Max was watching him as he looked round again.

“Arend,” they said softly. “ _Wux bensvenk_?”

He chuckled softly. “ _Akison, vethparijan. Wux frahsveri…_ ” he paused, and dropped back into Common. “As always.”

He combed through their hair with his claws, easing it back of their face, then dropped his hand to thumb at their lower lip again. This time, he let it linger there, and Max kissed the pad of it then ran the tip of their tongue all the way along, ending the stroke with a drag of their lip. It was such a burning reminder of that first touch of his hand against their jaw, the first time that Max had seen the intensity in his gaze and been brave enough, mad enough, to wonder whether he might yearn for their touch in anything like the way they had hungered for his. His claw came to rest against their lip, a soft pressure along the central line that kept them breathless still.

“Having you there, though, does leave me _some_ difficulties,” he shifted his knees apart, leaning down as Max sat back to let them both have their necks at easier angles, “when it comes to returning the favour.”

The end of his snout came into line with them, and Max reached up to run one hand along the underside of it. They might have gone with the less oily one, but neither of them could really hold that title now. Shattershield rumbled faintly as they kissed the tip of his snout, once and twice softly along the line of his teeth, until he cocked his head just a fraction beyond being easy to reach.

“Are you determined to have me relocate you this time?” he said, low teasing in the smile at the corner of his mouth despite his level tone. His hand grazed the back of their neck, catching them off-guard at the unexpected shiver of his claws and drawing a gasp from them. “I think this chair would be a little low for me… hmm, but my desk…” he nosed against their hair, hand tracing along their shoulder and down the underside of their arm, as if to chase their most sensitive lines. “I think that would be about the right height for me to return the favour…”

His words trailed off into a purr-like huff as he bought his hand round to their nipple again, teasing claws up their chest before rolling one hard peak beneath his finger. Max drew in their breath shakily, image immediately clear in their mind of Shattershield on his knees in front of them. It hit them like a wave of heat, of desire, tightening in them even as Shattershield drew faint lines with his claws on their skin.

But they laughed breathlessly, squeezing his thighs. “I don’t trust that desk,” they said.

“My desk is perfectly sturdy.”

“That part I don’t doubt,” they said, watching the subtler gleam of his scales in his own shadow, even bending over them as he was. Like everything in the citadel, it seemed solid and well-made, and Max had already seen that their weight seemed to give it no difficulty. “But I am starting to suspect that it is cursed.”

He huffed, drawing back up until he could look them in the eyes again. Max held his gaze unwaveringly, even with their knees starting to ache. “I think that I would have noticed a cursed item within my own quarters, thank you.”

“That might depend on the curse,” said Max, raising their eyebrows. They glimpsed the bottle of oil on the edge of their vision, picked it up, and offered it back to him with a smile that they could not at all manage to keep innocent. “And what else you’ve been doing at your desk that might have set it off.” Their hands crept up his thighs again, slower and more deliberate this time, as their voice dropped down. “Have you been thinking of me at your desk, _arvargus_?”

That specific word, at least, Shattershield had conceded was safe enough. Other members of Dragon D’Or might give him his rank, but they would not be so bold as to claim possession of him. Still, he gave a muted growl, gesturing with a flick of his chin for them to stand up as he sat back in the chair again.

Certainly they had the knack of chairs by now. Max still thought it less of a risk than the desk, frankly, as if some strange curse of chastity had been wound into the grain of the wood, and the furniture creators had been under the impression that it would not be noticed in a paladin order.

Really, why _that_ of all things had become one of the stereotypes, they did not know.

Max rose, hands on Shattershield’s thighs and leaning forwards into him still. Heat pooled in their core, sparked in their thighs, an ache they were waiting for him to sate even as his claws grazed across their ribs.

“You haven’t answered,” they said, smile widening again.

Shattershield grunted. “You are hard not to think of,” he said, which was not an answer but still enough for Max to feel a blush spread across their cheeks and down their chest. “But I do not like leaving promises unkept.”

To be fair to them, they _mostly_ ended up in bed. While the wall… situation had been _quite_ the memorable incident, and there were various occasions where they had started off sitting innocently enough in chairs or on the windowseats only for their attention to turn elsewhere, there was not that much other furniture in Shattershield’s quarters that came with flat surfaces. Well, other than the bathtub, but being contained meant that there wasn’t really so much risk of falling there.

They had their suspicions that Shattershield had more reason than just keeping a promise to want to see them on his desk. There was certainly an allure to the image, to their legs being about his shoulders _or_ about his hips, but frankly they would have thought of a cursed desk long before they would have thought of an umbrella full of bees, and one of those they knew for a fact they had come across within the last six months.

“Be that as it may,” said Max, letting their voice grow more serious. “Not on that desk. We have too bad a history with it.”

“And I daresay it would not reassure you were I to cast a spell to remove such a curse,” said Shattershield.

“Not when it would only remove the curse from us, not from the item,” said Max. From the curl of a smile that had not left the corner of his mouth, he had already suspected that they would know the spell and that such would be their answer. “Have you a back-up plan for me?”

“Mm. My bed has always been accommodating.”

Max laughed, straightening up as he got to his feet and allowing him to steer them backwards across the room. A few months ago, they doubtless also would have insisted on looking behind for themselves, but now they watched Shattershield expression and the line of his gaze where he was watching the edge of the bed. Sure enough, just as they expected it to bump against their thighs it was there, and Shattershield bent to nip at their shoulder, to lap at the side of their throat, his hands on their sides again.

In a move for which they had to give him credit for keeping smooth and flowing, he lowered himself to one knee, dropping his hands to Max’s hips and pushing gently downwards to guide them back to a seated position on the bed. The tip of his tongue found the hollow at the centre of their collarbone, claws tracing down their thighs, and Max closed their eyes as his mouth continued further down to sweep his tongue across one nipple.

They felt the angle of him change as he knelt down further, tongue wrapping about their nipple in that impossible way, now, as his hands parted their thighs. His other hand came up to the other side of their chest, rough hot scales against skin aching to be touched, kneading at their skin in such a way that there was just the barest brush of his claws against them. A nip of his teeth beneath their nipple, enough for them to shift and gasp, and then his tongue was tracing curling patterns down their stomach, curling around their navel, following the crease of their thigh. The bed was frankly so high that they were as much perched on it as truly sat down, and when Shattershield put a hand on their stomach and pushed with slow, inexorable strength they let themselves fall back across the sheets with only a mutter of protest from the wooden frame beneath them.

They could feel the sunlight, warmer where it fell directly onto their skin despite the cooler air. Max raised a hand to their mouth as Shattershield nipped the inside of their thighs, hard enough to pinch and to make them yelp; he mumbled something that sounded apologetic as he brushed his tongue over the spot again.

“I’m okay,” said Max, raising the hand for a moment. “Just surprised.”

A huff of acknowledgement, and then Shattershield’s tongue ran up the crease of their inner thigh, infuriatingly close but not quite enough. Especially when, from the angle he was at, he would not be able to miss just how wet he was leaving Max. When he repeated the same on the other side, though, the point was clear, and Max hissed between their teeth at the soft feel of his breath against their damp skin.

They were not sure whether they were closer to snarling or to pleading, still holding back from either when his tongue finally followed a long, firm line against them. Max made a choked sound against their hand as he followed with a second pass of his tongue that pressed just a fraction deeper, parting their folds to trace through wet, heated skin.

It was still too damn slow, even as he tucked one of their legs over his shoulder, even as he offered them firm short strokes rising up and up, unpredictable in where they fell, delicate brushes that would rise almost to their clit only to dart back down again. Max moaned against their hand as his tongue brushed at their entrance, teasing with almost a thrust before lulling back again.

“ _Arend_.” His name came out a gasp, their heel digging against his back at another long, soft brush of his tongue. He traced his nails on the underside of their raised leg, then when their hips arched up brought his other arm around and firmly down to hold them in place against the bed. They reached to grip his wrist, grateful for somewhere to hold as his tongue finally reached their clit and fire burst behind their eyes.

His tongue moved firm and sure against their clit, curling shapes around and across it, the pressure of the flat of his tongue giving way to the teasing writhe of the edge and back again. Max breathed hard against their hand, fragments of moans caught on their lips as he seemed to tie knots about them.

The hand left their thigh, but they did not care, not as Shattershield moved back down to lap his tongue at their entrance, thrusting movements that sparked and flourished pleasure down their limbs. He was doing something with his hands, fumbling, and Max was trying to decide whether or not it was worth it to look up when he gave a triumphant grunt, movement of his mouth slowing but not quite halting, and then his shoulders shifted again with a creak of the bed. They rolled their hips with the movement of him as he rumbled against them, inside them, vibrations arcing through their body.

They cursed against their hand, then moaned his name the next moment, even before his tongue came back to their clit and they felt the careful brush of his fingers against their entrance. They made a noise of encouragement, nodding before they even thought about how pointless that was, but it did not matter as he murred against their clit, tongue enveloping and shifting, finger stroking gently at their inner walls.

Breathing hard, they adjusted their hand on his wrist, giving a fast double-squeeze of reassurance. They squeezed as well around his finger, feeling that it was different, moving easier inside them even than usual, and then as he drew back and a second finger came alongside they felt the drip of warm oil against their skin and understood in a rush.

A second finger slipped inside them, in time with Shattershield’s tongue lapping down to trace the lines of their body. They felt as if they were thrumming around him, heat and pleasure straining to break loose, breathless and with their body aching to move and to chase something that running alone could not reach.

They switched to Draconic in their murmured encouragements, and Shattershield heard it to judge by the way that he growled, low and weighty, fingers moving in slow, steady thrusts as he coaxed at their clit again. This time the pleasure made it brighter, and Max whined and pressed the heel of their hand more firmly to their lips as waves of pleasure washed up them, almost feverish beneath their skin.

Max felt their words crumble to sounds as Shattershield drew them on with his fingers and his tongue, arm pinning them to the bed but not quite still as the weight and the rhythm of his shoulders rocked them against the sheets. By the time that he returning to his steady, purr-like sound, they were lost, fire flooding through them into climax as sensation rushed through them, fresh sweet waves whose sounds they muffled on their own hand as pulse on pulse shot through them.

As it started to become too much, the descent from the peak again, they double-tapped Shattershield’s arm again. “I’m good,” they gasped, even as they realised properly just how hard they had bitten the heel of their own hand, leaving it stinging. They groped for the words in Draconic. “ _Slow. Please, slow._ ”

Shattershield complied, rumbling growing gentler, hand stilling as his tongue returned to slow, more general sweeps. An aftershock of pleasure bought a squeak of a sound from Max’s lips, but they were able to look up at the ceiling above them and to bring their fast breathing back under control.

“Will the sheets be okay?” they said. They kept their hand lightly on his wrist, as gentle as their legs now lay about his shoulders. “With the oil, I mean.”

“Hmm. This order is mostly dragonborn, getting some oil in the sheets is quite normal,” said Shattershield, gently drawing his fingers out. Yes, that did rather make sense, now that Max could put their thoughts together more to actually consider it. He nosed against the crook of their thigh, and gave their skin a nip that was barely more than pressure. “The laundry is used to it. I am told they complain about pickled cabbage, but I thought it better not to pry.”

A laugh spilled from Max’s lips, even as they dropped their palm over their mouth again, at his dry words. With a rumble, Shattershield rubbed his _eshrazani_ against their thigh, and Max began to trace circles with their fingertips on his wrist.

“Probably for the best,” they said. They felt warm beyond the sunlight, muscles unknotted and almost liquid against the sheets. “Mm, I should call furniture cursed more often if that’s what it gets me.” They felt Shattershield shake his head, heard him snort softly. “You didn’t say what it was you were thinking, though,” they added, letting their voice drop slightly. “When you were thinking of me.”

Shattershield huffed, then stood up, before leaning to plant his hands on either side of them. The sunlight cut across his body, and Max trailed their hand down the line of it, across the faint rippling pattern of his scales. It was as if they could feel the power coiled in him, even as he put one knee onto the bed and it gave a faint creak. “I said you were hard not to think of,” he replied. It was not as if his voice had much lower to go, but they had heard from the beginning how it softened for them. “I thought it was implied that those thoughts take many forms.”

The faint sheen of the oil on his chest was not quite gone, though it was harder to feel now. Max bit their lip. “I definitely think of you,” they said softly. Shattershield paused, tilting his head just a fraction, expression becoming harder to read once again. “I do miss you, in between. Not just this,” they added, with a light shove to the hard muscle of his chest. Their heart was still racing, they realised, even if it was likely for a different reason now. They brought the same hand up to his jaw, running their thumb gently along the line of his mouth. “You. Talking. Taking meals. Just lying…” The words started to feel a little too vulnerable, and Max swallowed again. “Though this certainly features as well.”

They both still had plenty of stories of their pasts to tell each other, but had… avoided talking about the future, more or less. At least, Shattershield had not particularly raised questions about it, and Max, well. They had not looked too closely at what they wanted, suspecting that they knew the answer, unsure of what they would do about it. It had not escaped their notice that with each passing month they more looked forward to returning to Mistmire, to Shattershield, reshaping their time around him even as he was, bit by bit, reshaping his quarters around them.

“I must admit,” said Shattershield softly, bending for a moment to run his tongue up the side of their neck. Max squirmed beneath the touch, tilting their chin up for him. “I might have been disappointed if it did not.”

“Good to hear.” Their voice gave way to a whisper as his teeth grazed their skin again. Max ran their hands up his arms, over the taut lines of his muscles locked in place, leaving one against his shoulder and tracing the other back down as a wicked urge bloomed in them. “But I'm not sure hanging over the edge of the bed like this is the best idea for me...” they said. They waited for him to glance down at their position, then snaked an arm around his and tugged it out from underneath him, shoving his other shoulder back at the same time.

If he had been prepared, they never would have stood a chance against his strength. But with enough speed, Shattershield had just enough time for his eyes to go wide in surprise before he was slammed down onto his side. Max was already sliding out from beneath him, angling to straddle his hips, when a creak became a crunch of wood and the bed gave way beneath them.

Shattershield gave a gruff bark of surprise as he was dropped further down, even as he scooped an arm around Max as if to shield them from it. They landed mostly on his chest, air still knocked from their lungs. Snapping their head up again, they looked around them to see the bed buckled in the middle as if it were trying to fold in half, blankets slumping towards them, wool spilling from a ripped seam of the mattress onto the floor.

“Oh my god,” said Max, not able for a moment to manage anything more. They blinked, then turned back to Shattershield. “Arend, are you okay?”

He grimaced as he pushed himself up towards seated again, and Max scrambled to a kneeling position back on the floor. “A couple of bruises I will be unable to explain,” he said. “I simply hope that–”

“Captain?” The sound was distant, but all too quickly accompanied by the sound of running footsteps from beyond Shattershield's quarters. “Captain Shattershield?”

“Oh, _chaubask vur kepeshk karshoji_ ,” he snarled, going to haul himself upright altogether as Max leaned out of his way. He grabbed his shirt from where it hung over the foot of the bed and stalked off in the direction of the door to his chambers.

As he called back that everything was fine, that something had simply been knocked over, Max looked back from the head to the foot of the bed in front of them. Of all the firsts of the last few months, they would not have expected _this_ to be one of them, and as that thought occurred they snorted with laughter. They pushed aside the blankets closest to them to look at the snapped beam underneath, then had to lower them again and put a hand back over their mouth so as not to burst out laughing altogether.

They could feel their lips twitching, no matter how straight a face they tried to keep, as there was a heavier-than-necessary closing of the main door of Shattershield's rooms and, a few seconds later, he reappeared at the doorway with his shirt pulled on and the laces tucked neatly into place. Max knew from experience that it was the fastest way to look anything like presentably dressed, but also rather easily seen through by anyone who noticed the way you were only letting part of yourself be seen through the doorway.

Stopping at the door, Shattershield looked at the bed for a few long seconds, then gave a deeply disappointed sigh and reached up to put a hand to his brow. His palpable disapproval of an inanimate object seemed to solidify and coalesce on the air, and Max lost their composure for a moment that was long enough for a bubble of laughter to creep out.

“That bed has served me perfectly well for some fifteen years,” he said flatly. Disbelief and annoyance wound together in his voice, but Max could see in his expression that it was not _them_ he was annoyed with. “Everything in this citadel is meant to be able to withstand the needs of dragonborn.”

Oh gods. Max started shaking with their laughter, still doing their best to keep it as restrained as they could. “The last time I was warned about breaking furniture,” they said, voice wobbling, “I was about eight and still jumping on things.”

Shattershield gave another sigh, leaning against the doorframe and rubbing his temple, and for a moment Max was coughing with laughter again, feeling the ache in their ribs from holding it back for so long. “Well, apparently it was not designed to handle someone _wielding_ a dragonborn,” he said finally.

It was too much. Max gave into their laughter, putting both hands over their mouth and letting it roll over them as they gave Shattershield a helpless, speechless look. After a few seconds, he shook his head, the faintest sign of a smile at the corner of his mouth as he regarded the sunlit scene in front of him.

“What in G'eth am I going to say to explain this...” he said, not even bothering to turn it into a question. Whether it was truly rhetorical, or whether he could simply see that Max was too taken by laughter to be fit to reply, did not really matter now. “The forms ask for a reason that replacement is needed, you know,” he added, more clearly in Max's direction. “I am not sure that _wear and tear_ quite covers this.”

“Maybe they should have designed it to handle two dragonborn at a time,” said Max, as the laughter finally ran its course and they began to regain some control again. Shattershield continued to glare at the bed. “I think it should be fixable, it looks like it’s just the one beam that’s gone.”

They shrugged, but the feel of the air on their skin reminded them how pointedly naked they still were. Max glanced around, but they had left their clothes perfectly neatly in the bathroom, and it was a lot easier to lean over, grab the Egbert memorial shirt from where it had slipped out from beneath the pillows, and pull it on as if they were dressing for bed in the middle of the afternoon. Shattershield chuckled as they pulled it into place.

“Have you considered that it may be you, and not the desk, that is cursed?” he asked. The words were so solemn that for a moment they almost believed it was a real question, until they managed to look up and see him smiling down at their rumpled form.

At least his mood was clearly softening, despite the interruption. “Well,” said Max. “At least if it’s one of us then you could break it. Can’t say it seemed to be at the cabin, though.”

“Hmm, that is true. Perhaps one of us has picked it up since.” Shattershield looked over at the bed once more, sighed, and straightened up from his leaning on the pillar. “Very well. I will go and see what form I am supposed to complete to get it fixed.” He gestured vaguely to the seat large enough for the both of them. “The chair was considered my own problem, but standard pieces they will expect to come from particular suppliers. Ones that can supposedly provide for dragonborn.”

Max could well imagine that the dragonborn members of Dragon D’Or put significantly more strain on even tables, chairs or benches than a human order would. Certainly, Shattershield had grumbled about clothing which did not have strong enough seams, and about the leather straps for his armour becoming worn and needing replacement. Weapons tended to fare better with them, but Max had certainly seen and heard of shields being broken just during sparring here.

They picked up the bottle of oil, which had managed to stay not just intact but corked, and held it up to Shattershield’s line of sight. “At least this made it out intact.”

“Well, I will be grateful for small mercies,” said Shattershield. “Where are my trousers? I am certain I am capable of keeping track of my clothes between your visits.”

It was not the first time he had indicated as such, and Max suspected that it went back to that word _distracting_ which he had used on that first visit at the sight of them wearing the same shirt they were now wrapped in. Absurdly overpriced as it was – they really _should_ have known that Corazón was not collecting for a memorial for Egbert, but they had believed him at the time – the fabric was genuinely of a good quality, and had only become softer and more comfortable with time. “In the bathroom, I think,” said Max.

Shattershield rumbled and nodded, and began across the room even as Max started to get back to their feet again. They paused to brush off their knees, then as they straightened up felt an arm snake around their chest from behind as Shattershield tugged them back against his chest. He nuzzled against them, nose to their hair, wrapping them in the warmth of an arm for a moment.

“I apologise for my furniture,” he said. Another nudge against their hair, hand stroking their ribs. “And for my annoyance.”

Max reached up to find his jaw, and as he dipped his head ran a hand as far up as they could reach to rub their fingers through his _eshrazani_. “I appear to have been the final straw for the furniture,” they replied. “And the annoyance wasn’t at me.” They turned their head to press a kiss to his arm. “But thank you.”

“At least it was here and not the cabin,” he muttered.

That would have been a _lot_ more difficult to explain. A short letter thanking the anonymous owner for use of the cabin during a storm, and an appropriate amount of gold discretely placed, had been easy enough for Shattershield to provide, but mending large pieces of furniture would have been much more of a problem.

“I’ll put the mattress on the floor for now,” said Max. They would be unlikely to be able to move the bed itself at all, but getting everything off would at least be possible. “I’ve slept on worse, if you can handle roughing it for a night.”

Shattershield scoffed at Max’s teasing, tightened his arm around them one more time, then unwound himself and stepped back. “I am sure I can bear that hardship.” His eyes, as he looked Max over, softened to fondness again. “As long as you do not manage to somehow damage the floor with me as well.”

“I’ll do my best.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've used most of the Draconic in here enough that I've actually learned it... apart from _eshrazani_ , which I am completely incapable of spelling despite having made the damn word up myself.
> 
> Officially stuff from Erin M Evans, sourced [here](http://slushlush.com/2013/04/a-draconic-primer/) and [here](http://slushlush.com/2015/10/lonely-planet-vayemniri-or-more-draconic-for-you/).  
> \- "Wux bensvenk?" is "You okay?"  
> \- "Akison" is "Yes"  
> \- "vethparijan", my perennial favourite, is a romantic endearment which literally means 'little shield' or 'buckler'  
> \- "arvargus" is "my captain"  
> \- "chaubask vur kepeshk karshoji" is a line I have been waiting to use; it literally means "fate and fucking storm" and is equivalent in meaning to "Oh for fuck's sake". Or, if you grew up among Catholics as I did, the snarl of "Jesus wept" which meant someone was about to be in real trouble.
> 
> Non-official words which I have put in are "eshrazani" for the frills that dragonborn have towards the back of their heads, and "frahsveri" as an adjective for someone or something which is far stronger/more impressive/more intense than it appears to be.


End file.
